Beyond Redemption
by ktschott7
Summary: Connor and Murphy continue to fight for their mission but a war is brewing in the ghettos of New York City and the Saints have found themselves caught in the eye of the storm. The battle against evil has become more treacherous as the ghosts of their past threaten to tear them apart. Follow up story to Lockdown.
1. Chapter 1

**Beyond Redemption**

Chapter 1

 _It was dark. So dark that it seemed as if the surrounding blackness was an actual physical force trying to smother him. He felt as if all of his life, light, and hope were being sucked away, leaving him with nothing but this crushing despair. The only noise that could be heard was the sound of his own frantic breathing and it sounded like a deafening roar in contrast to the absolute silence around him._

 _Connor tried to turn and look for some way out of this enveloping darkness, but found that something was holding him tight. Claustrophobia and panic began to set in, causing him to thrash and fight against his invisible bonds. Opening his mouth, he tried to call for someone, anyone, to come help him only to find that he had no voice. His breath was coming even faster now and he couldn't shake the familiar feeling that he had been here before._

 _Very slowly, the oppressive darkness eased up as a light somewhere inside the inky blackness sprang to life. Connor squinted his eyes as the light grew brighter, illuminating the area around him. Soon he was able to make out the silhouette of a lone figure sitting in the center of the light. The person was seated in a chair with their shoulders slumped, head hung low in defeat. Connor tried unsuccessfully to call out to them, his voice coming out as no more than a mere whisper._

 _As if they sensed his efforts, the figure across from him raised its head and Connor's heart dropped when he found himself staring into Murphy's blood soaked face. Lunging against his restraints, Connor fought with everything inside him to get to his brother's side._

 _"Save him, if you can," a voice hissed mockingly from the edges of the darkness._

 _Connor jerked his head around, but there was no one to be seen. Turning back to Murphy, he saw his twin looking at him with pleading eyes._

 _"Help me, Connor," Murphy begged quietly._

 _Connor tried desperately to speak, to comfort his brother, but nothing came out._

 _"Tell me what I want to hear and I'll let him live," the voice came again._

 _Connor looked frantically around him, still unable to find the source of those chilling words. Glancing back at Murphy, his heart jumped into his throat._

 _He was terrified to find a man standing in front of his brother's hunched over form, a gun pressed to his head. The man turned slowly in his direction and Connor felt a white-hot rage when he was met with Maddox's smirking face._

 _"If you can't say the words, Saint, then you might as well pull the trigger yourself," Maddox taunted._

 _Suddenly, Connor found himself standing at Murphy's feet, the weight of a gun heavy in his hand as he aimed the barrel between his twin's eyes. He was no longer physically restrained but he may as well have been because his actions were no longer his own. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he tried to force himself to drop the gun. He used every ounce of will that he could muster but the weapon remained tucked firmly in his grip and he could feel his finger slowly starting to squeeze the trigger._

 _NO! Looking down he saw Murphy staring back up at him with wide eyes and Connor felt tears starting to roll down his face. There had to be some way to stop this, but the harder he fought against it the closer he came to ending Murphy's life. His finger squeezed tighter and tighter until at last, with a deafening bang, the bullet tore from the barrel at the same time a wretched scream was ripped from Connor's throat, his voice finally freed from its silence. The life left Murphy's eyes immediately and Connor watched in absolute horror as his twin's head fell forward, blood dripping from a hole in the center of his forehead._

 _"No! Murphy, no! God, no, I'm so sorry, Murph, I'm so fucking sorry!" Connor rushed forward toward his brother, but before he could reach him, Murphy lifted his head and glared through cold, dead eyes._

 _"You could have saved me, Connor. You could've stopped this, but you didn't. You killed me." Murphy's voice was unlike anything he had ever heard. Slowly, his brother stood and started stalking toward him, blood still flowing from the bullet hole in his head._

 _Crawling backwards on the ground, Connor tried to escape his twin's accusations. Glancing around him, he stopped when he noticed more figures starting to materialize out of the edges of the darkness. Rocco was the first to reveal himself, followed by Greenly, Romeo, then his Da. Joining Murphy, they all formed a circle around him on the floor, their dead eyes full of recrimination. Squeezing his eyes shut, Connor clamped his hands over his ears, trying to block them all out, but their voices continued to ring in his head. They were telling him it was his fault. He let them all die._

 _Unable to handle their accusations or the sting of his own guilt, Connor looked down at the gun still clutched in his hand._

" _I'm sorry," he sobbed. Without a second thought he raised it to his temple and pulled the trigger._

Connor shot upright in bed, his breath coming in short rapid gasps. He looked down at the sweat soaked sheets, pooled around his waist before glancing wildly around the semi- dark room, his heart hammering in his chest. His gaze immediately sought out Murphy's bed on the other side of the room where he found his brother propped up on his elbows, staring back at him.

The obvious concern he could see reflected there in his brother's eyes had him dropping his gaze back to his lap. Running a shaky hand through his perspiration slicked hair, Connor waited, expecting his twin to say something to him. He was normally able to stay quiet enough that he didn't wake Murphy up with his nightmares but this particular dream had been worse than most and he could only imagine the sounds he was making in his sleep.

When the questions never came he looked back up to find that Murphy was still simply just staring at him. Not wanting to see the worry in his eyes any longer, Connor threw the sheets off of him and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Go back to sleep, Murph," he said quietly. "It's still early, no need for you to be up just yet." He was careful to avoid his brother's piercing gaze as he reached for the closest pair of jeans he could find. Sliding them on, he headed for the door.

Murphy didn't make a move to lie back down, he just watched in silence as his brother shuffled through their room in the pre-dawn light. He felt as if he should say something but he knew from experience that when Connor was feeling vulnerable, it was best to tread lightly. Murphy had thought that in the three weeks they had been in New York, Connor's nightmares had finally started to ease up, but judging by the haunted look he just witnessed on his brother's face, it seemed they were just as bad as ever.

Without a backwards glance, Connor stepped out into the hallway, closing the door on both Murphy and his concern. Moving across the hall, he slipped into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. He stopped in front of the sink and turned on the faucet, cupping his hands under the flowing water. Bending down, Connor brought his hands up to meet his face, relishing the feel of the cool water as it washed away the drying sweat, snapping his sleep-fogged mind back to full awareness. He repeated the action several times before shutting off the faucet and looking up at himself in the mirror.

He could see the horror of his most recent nightmare reflected on his face and he closed his eyes against the images that were still floating too near the surface. This one had been much worse than any of the others and he was having a hard time shaking the residual feelings of fear. The memory of Murphy's dead, accusing eyes caused his heart rate to pick up and his hands to tremble as unshed tears stung his eyes. Desperate for a distraction, Connor pushed himself off of the small counter and moved over to the tub to turn on the shower. Stripping down, he waited until the water was a bearable temperature before stepping in under the spray. Winter was fast approaching and seeing as how the heat in the crappy little apartment that they currently called home was hit and miss on the best of days, the warm water felt like heaven as it flowed across his chilled skin. Rolling his shoulders, he allowed the cascade of water to slowly ease the tension from his body while letting his anxious mind drift to the task that the oncoming day would bring.

Today was the day. Today, after three weeks of planning and scouting, the Saints were finally ready to make their first strike against the illegal trafficking empire that had been built by America's favorite nice guy, Kennedy Dawson. Mr. Dawson was internationally recognized as a generous supporter of dozens of charities around the globe as well as running several of his own. On the surface, the man was a fucking angel, but in his off hours and outside of the public eye, the guy had a dark side that destroyed just as many lives as his good side helped. Between the drugs, illegal firearms, and human trafficking, Kennedy Dawson appeared to have no boundaries or morals when it came to his extracurricular business endeavors.

Upon starting this mission, he and Murphy had come to the realization that they shared a difference of opinion on the best way to move forward and eliminate this threat to society. Murphy, in typical Murphy fashion, was ready to jump right in, guns blazing, and go straight after the man himself. Connor, however, was quick to point out that, despite all of the damage and destruction Dawson had caused, the man had also done a lot of good. If they killed him, they would be taking away from innocent people in need.

The brothers had butted heads on the topic, Murphy insisting that the fucker needed to pay, but it hadn't taken much for Connor to make his twin see reason. After that, it had been decided that they would begin at the bottom and start by taking out the peons in charge of distribution. They were going to tear Kennedy Dawson's empire right out from under him, and if after they succeeded, the man still refused to abandon his corrupt ways, if he was truly beyond redemption, then they would destroy him completely.

With a plan in place, the Saints had gotten right down to work. Despite the fact that Mr. Dawson was living large in the upper east side of Manhattan, Connor and Murphy had decided it would be better for them if they set up somewhere a little more low key. The neighborhood of Brownsville was located in the eastern part of Brooklyn and carried a vicious reputation as being a ruthless slum. The area was made up predominantly of different types of public housing developments and had a strong history of violent crime dating back to the 1910s. It was perfect. Smecker had advised them against setting up in such a dangerous neighborhood but the thick population of drug dealers and street gangs, combined with the lack of police patrolling the area, made this the ideal place to begin their war.

Using his connections and support from the Catholic Church, Father Sibeal was able to provide them with the funds needed to get themselves a halfway decent apartment rented under one of Smecker's new identities. From there they began plotting their next move.

Over the last three weeks they had scouted the neighborhood using their powers of observation, ability to eavesdrop, as well as getting involved in a little undercover work to figure out who the heavy hitters were. Every lead they found seemed to point to the same man, a man by the name of Deion. They were unable to get a last name but that information alone was enough for Smecker to get Cooper and Tucker, his resources at the Bureau, to put together a file on the guy. They had everything they needed and now it was finally time for the Saints to reveal their presence in the ghettos of New York.

Connor rested his head against the cool tile of the shower wall and tried to ignore the fluttering of nerves in his stomach. He never used to get nervous before a hit, that had always been more Murphy's thing, and yet, the sick twisting in his gut was unmistakable. He was afraid. He had already failed so many people and he felt that if he had to suffer through one more loss, the weight of it would crush him.

It was because of these fears that Connor had forbidden Edwards to participate in the killing aspect of their mission and only rarely did he allow the kid to join them on the streets during their recon work. Edwards had voiced his displeasure on the topic many times, complaining that he was being treated like a child, but Connor held firm. With Edwards out of harms way, it was one less thing that he had to worry about. Now, if only he could convince Murphy to hang back as well, then he would be able to shed this uncharacteristic apprehensiveness that was plaguing him and exact justice like the fearless Saint that he had once been. But Connor knew that if he even dared to suggest that his twin stay behind, that conversation would probably end with Murphy's fist halfway down his throat. Murphy would never in a million years allow him to do this alone, but the thought of his twin in the line of fire once more made him physically sick.

What would happen when those bullets started flying? What if he couldn't keep his brother safe? What if tonight was the night that he lost the most important thing in the world to him? Connor pounded his forehead lightly against the slick tile, attempting to clear his head of these negative thoughts. His fear had become a distraction that they couldn't afford. He had to focus. He had to get his fucking head in the game if he was going to get them through this alive.

Pushing his anxieties down deep, he summoned every bit of confidence that he could muster and schooled his face into a mask of calm. _We can fucking do this,_ he told himself with forced determination. _We're going to fucking do this and everything is going to be just fine._

Straightening back up, he shut off the spray of water, which had started going cold on him, and stepped out of the shower. Goosebumps pebbled his skin as the cold air hit his wet body and he reached for a towel, quickly drying himself off before slipping his clothes back on. With a sigh, he opened the bathroom door, ready to begin the day.

Stepping back across the hall, he re-entered his room in search of a shirt to stave off the chill in the apartment and wasn't surprised to find Murphy's bed empty. He had known his brother wouldn't go back to sleep. Moving over to his dresser, he fumbled through the middle drawer before selecting a dark, long sleeve shirt and pulling it over his head. He made a quick stop at the nightstand by his bed to grab his pack of smokes, shoving them into the pocket of his jeans as he headed back out into the hallway.

On his way down the hall, Connor noticed the light streaming through the bottom of the door to the second bedroom. A familiar thumping sound was coming from inside and he smirked to himself, shaking his head. Without bothering to knock, he reached for the handle and pushed open the door. Edwards' eyes darted briefly in Connor's direction but the kid didn't take any more of his focus off of the punching bag that he was working relentlessly in the corner of his room.

"Well, you're at it mighty early this morning, aren't ya?" Connor asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. With how rarely Edwards had been allowed to leave the apartment, it had become a pretty common thing to find the young man in here, pounding away all of his frustrations and excess energy.

"Couldn't sleep," Edwards replied in a steely tone, his response followed up by two jabs and a cross that were slightly more aggressive than they had been previously.

With a sigh, Connor folded his arms and leaned heavily against the doorframe. He could feel the anger radiating from that side of the room and felt the urge to say something to relieve the tension. "Look, I know you're fucking pissed at me for making you stay behind tonight, but that was part of the deal when we agreed to let you come with us." The only indication that Edwards had even heard him was the increase of force behind his punches.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Connor tried again, "We're not doing this to punish you, we just don't want to see you get hurt, is all. It's for your own good."

At that, Edwards' head snapped up and he stepped away from the punching bag, his chest heaving from exertion. "For _my_ own good, or for _yours_ , Connor?" he questioned harshly.

Connor was taken aback by the sharp tone and fire in Edwards' narrowed eyes. He was unprepared for this anger from the normally easygoing young man and he had to work to reign in his own temper. He understood why the kid was upset but he didn't need this right now, there was too much other shit he had to worry about today.

"You staying behind is for both of our sakes," he answered calmly. "As long as you're here, you're out of harms way, and Murph and I don't have to worry about trying to protect you."

Edwards ran a gloved hand through his dark sweaty hair, his agitation obvious. "I saved your lives and got you both out of prison. I think I have more than proved my ability to handle myself," he argued, his voice slowly rising in anger.

Letting out another sigh, Connor pushed away from the doorframe and took a step into the room. "You know we appreciate everything you've sacrificed for us, that's not what this is about. We're grateful for what you've done, but that doesn't mean I'm going to repay the favor by allowing you to get yourself killed."

Edwards shook his head in exasperation. "I don't need you to protect me, I'm not a child!"

"Then stop fucking acting like one!" Connor shot back, his patience finally spent. "I've made the decision and you throwing a temper tantrum isn't going to change that."

Edwards shrank back, dropping his gaze to the floor and Connor immediately felt like an asshole. Running a hand over his face, he let his fingers thread through his hair, pulling slightly in frustration. "Please," he implored, lowering his voice several notches. "Please, just understand why I'm doing this. I know you can handle yourself but that doesn't mean I wont worry about you. It's fucking bad enough that I have to worry about something happening to Murphy every time we go out there. I can't handle any more. How am I supposed to do my job if the only thing I can think about is the possibility of losing another friend." Connor paused and took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "I wont lose anyone else, Josh, so please, just stop fucking fighting me on this."

Edwards watched Connor with wide eyes. Very rarely did the brothers address him by his first name, usually preferring to simply call him by his last. It was a sign that Connor was attempting to reach out to him on a more personal level. He was begging him to understand and accept that this was how it needed to be. As much as Edwards wanted to keep arguing, he knew he had to let it go for now. He could see the unconcealed pain in Connor's eyes and Edwards knew he had to drop it. He understood that Murphy and Connor were both still grieving for their friend, Romeo. He was also aware that the brothers had lost several other people before that, including their father. He realized that him being so closely involved with their work probably struck a raw and very painful nerve. He would let it go and do as Connor asked this time, but he knew he would not remain content to sit around much longer. He was getting antsy.

Dropping his gaze, Edwards relented with a small nod of his head. "Fine," he said, his voice quiet and deflated. "I'll stay here."

Connor could see the disappointment on the kid's face and stepped over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "But just cause you have to stay here doesn't mean we won't need your help. We're going to need you to be ready in case things go south. I need you prepared for anything, you understand?"

Edwards nodded and Connor patted the side of his neck affectionately before turning and leaving the room, closing the door on his way out. It wasn't but three seconds after the door had latched that Connor heard the thumping sound of Edwards' fists resuming their work on the punching bag and he shook his head in amusement. For how even-tempered the kid usually was he certainly seemed to have a lot of pent up aggression.

Connor continued his way down the hall until he reached the living room and took a moment to glance around the sparsely furnished area before turning to his right, walking through the arched doorway into the kitchen. Murphy was sitting at the small table there, one foot propped up on an empty seat and his elbow draped over the back of his chair while he worked his thumbnail between his teeth. The darker haired twin was staring blankly into the steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him, seeming to be deep in thought, but when Connor walked in he glanced up quickly, offering him a tight smile.

"Everything alright with the kid?" Murphy asked quietly. He had heard the raised voices and didn't have to guess very hard as to what the argument had been about.

Connor nodded as he stepped over to the counter and set about fixing himself a cup of the coffee that Murphy had brewed. "Aye, he'll be fine. He's pretty upset about the whole thing but I would rather him be alive and mad at me than be dead."

"Hmmm," Murphy hummed in agreement. He knew that Edwards was getting frustrated with his forced seclusion but it was obvious that Connor wasn't budging on the subject. Murphy personally felt that the young man had more than earned his chance to get his hands a little dirty. He deserved to see some action, but it was obvious that Connor felt very strongly about this, which meant that Murphy would back his twin's decision without question.

He waited until Connor collected his cup of coffee and took a seat across the table from him before bringing up his next question. "And what about you? You doing alright?"

Taking a careful sip from his steaming cup, Connor relaxed back into his chair, fixing his brother with a guarded look. He knew that Murphy was referring to the dream but that wasn't something he was really willing to discuss, even with Murphy. "Aye, I'm fine," he replied casually.

"You wanna talk about it?" Murphy questioned gently, not wanting to push too hard but hoping that if he gave him the opening, Connor would choose to confide in him.

"Nothing to talk about, Murph. It was just a stupid dream."

Murphy nodded and looked back down into his cup, still chewing away anxiously at his thumb. "I knew you were having 'em back when we were in Boston but I thought they had gotten better. You still having a lot of them?" Connor just gave a little non-committal shrug and Murphy tried not to feel hurt that his brother wouldn't open up to him. He knew his twin well enough to know that since their escape from Hoag, something had been bothering him. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about that though.

That was one of the many differences between the twins. When Murphy was feeling something, you knew it immediately. He wasn't capable of hiding his emotions. He wore his heart on his sleeve, right where everyone could see it. Connor on the other hand, if something was bothering him, he was much more subtle about it. He would often bottle it up, uncomfortable with the idea of people seeing his emotional insecurities. Murphy was always the exception to that. Connor didn't usually hide himself from his twin and the fact that he was doing so now had Murphy more than a little concerned.

Ignoring the ache that this emotional distance had put in his heart, Murphy decided to change the subject and allow Connor the space he desired. "Smecker called while you were in the shower," he announced softly, finally dropping his thumb from his mouth. "Said he was going to be stopping by sometime this morning."

Connor arched an eyebrow as he dug his pack of smokes out of his pocket, removing one before sliding the pack across the table to his brother. "He's coming here?" he asked in disbelief, flipping his lighter open and brining the flame to meet the end of his cigarette. "Brave man," he added when Murphy nodded.

After their original move from Boston, Smecker had kept himself pretty much separated from the Saints, leaving the brothers to do their work. The former agent would call every few days to check on their progress and maybe occasionally set up a meeting somewhere if necessity called for it. However, aside from the day they moved in, the man never ventured too far into this neighborhood. The brothers knew it was best that way, lest they draw unwanted attention to themselves. Despite the fact that he no longer worked for the Bureau, Smecker still had a look about him that just screamed Fed and in these parts that was enough to draw some unfriendly eyes.

"Aye," Murphy agreed as he lit his own cigarette. "But he said it was important. Said he had something to give us that we would be needing for tonight."

Connor nodded and had to force down the returning feelings of anxiety that came with the mention of their evening plans. He had to fucking keep it together. Hoping that it would help him get his head on straight, he reached for the thin folder that was sitting in the center of the table and flipped it open, scanning the information inside.

"You've already fucking looked at that thing a hundred times, Connor. You're not going to find anything new in there. We've got our plan worked out. We're ready for this," Murphy reassured confidently.

Ignoring his brother, Connor continued to look over the file. _Deion Marcus,_ it read at the top of the first page, _Age: thirty-four years, Race: African American, Gender: male, Weight: 230lbs, Height: 6'5"._ Big motherfucker. _Marks: tattoo-demon right forearm, Occupation: unknown, Precautions: violent, Remarks: known gang leader._ The rest of the paper was taken up by the man's rather lengthy arrest record and criminal history.

In the top corner was a photo of Mr. Marcus' mug shot, paper clipped to the inside of the file _._ Slipping the picture out from under the clip, Connor held it up and took a moment to memorize the bastard's face one last time. The man in the photo wore an expression that matched his equally violent and appalling background and Connor shook his head in disgust. Despite his nerves, he couldn't wait to deliver this asshole.

Returning the photo to the folder, he continued to thumb through the pages, skimming the detailed information on Deion's leadership role in the East Brooklyn street gang known as the Red Spade Demons. This particular gang was one of the largest players in drug distribution in New York City, servicing neighborhoods all through out the five boroughs. Normally, dealing in the territory of another gang would have created enemies and ignited gang wars, however, the Red Spades were being allowed to spread their filth wherever they pleased without interference. Something this large would have required groups of gangs working together, forming alliances to create this extensive system of distribution.

Not only would this set-up take the cooperation of multiple street gangs, but would also require a large supply of product. That was where Kennedy Dawson came in. While Dawson's illegal shipments eventually made their way all around the country, it seemed that the billionaire was using New York City as a home base of sorts. Everything got shipped, and a good portion of it distributed, right here in the city. By taking out the top runners in the Red Spades, the Saints would be dealing a major blow to Dawson's local business while hopefully getting the information needed to move up to the next level in this pyramid of corruption.

The sound of something heavy slamming down on the table startled Connor out of his thoughts and he looked up to see Murphy unzipping one of the two black duffle bags that were now covering the table top.

Glancing over at his brother, Murphy motioned to the second bag with a nod of his head. "You don't need to read that stupid fucking file anymore. No more waiting around. Today is the day these fucks start answering for their sins."

Connor could see the gleam of excitement in his brother's eyes as Murphy began laying out the contents of his duffle and he couldn't help the small smile that slipped onto his own face at his twin's enthusiasm. Stubbing out his smoke in a nearby ashtray, Connor reached for his bag and pulled the zipper. Tugging it open, he looked inside and, oh, what a beautiful sight it was. Staring back at him were two, .45 caliber, double action, black, Beretta 92FS's fitted with genuine walnut grips, complete with twenty round magazines and high performance sound and flash suppressors. They were fucking glorious.

A quick stop in with their trusty arms dealer on the way out of Boston and they had been good to go. The man had been more than eager to, once again, hook them up with his finest merchandise. After congratulating them on their 'release' from prison and setting them up proper, he had wished them the best of luck and seen them on their way.

Connor's smile widened as he took a gun in each hand and pulled them from the bag. He had to admit, it felt really fucking good to feel the familiar weight against his palms as he once again held his weapons with a purpose. He took a moment to savor the feeling before placing the guns on the table and beginning the tedious job of disassembling them, cleaning every nook and cranny and assuring himself that they were in perfect working order, ready for action.

Completely immersed in their task, the brothers didn't even take notice when Edwards entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table, watching the pre-game ritual with a longing in his eyes. It wasn't until a loud knock at the front door sounded through the apartment that Connor and Murphy finally looked up and took note of their surroundings. Judging by the bright sun filtering in through the small kitchen window, it was approaching late morning. Flashing his brother a look, Connor pushed away from the table and walked out to the living room to answer the door.

Looking down through the peephole, he smirked to himself before turning the locks and pulling the door open. When the person waiting on the other side passed through the opening, Connor's smirk turned into a light chuckle as he got a better look at the uncharacteristically casual attire that graced the man's thin frame.

"What? No Armani today?" he teased good-naturedly. "I didn't even think jeans were a part of your wardrobe, Smecker."

Removing his sunglasses, Smecker rolled his eyes and shot the younger man an un-amused look. "This isn't exactly a suit and tie neighborhood you boys have set yourselves up in here."

Connor shrugged. "We go where we're needed." He grinned at the man one more time before leading the way into the kitchen.

As they stepped through the doorway, Murphy looked up and Connor could see the same look of amusement written on his twin's face as he took in the former agent's simple jeans and sweatshirt. "Lookin' sharp there, Smecker," Murphy deadpanned, trying desperately to hold in his humor.

Smecker fixed the Irishman with a withering glare that, back in the day, probably would have sent any rookie scurrying away in fear. However, in this case, it only caused Murphy to lose his fragile composure, dissolving him into laughter.

Connor was quick to join in, followed by a light snicker from Edwards and Smecker shook his head in mild annoyance, the barest hint of a smile forming at the corner of his lips. "I'm glad to see you boys are taking this so seriously," he said sarcastically, taking a seat at the table. He waited a few moments for the laughter to die down before getting down to business. "Everything ready for tonight?" he asked, glancing back and forth between Connor and Murphy.

"Aye, we're all set," Murphy responded confidently. "The Red Spade's are having a meeting at Deion's place over in East Flatbush. There'll be a lot of higher ranked members there so hopefully, after tonight, we'll have severely crippled their operation and ability to function. Our goal is to find out where and when the next shipments are coming in so we can strike before the product hits the streets."

Smecker nodded thoughtfully. "Is Edwards suiting up as well or is it just going to be you two?"

Edwards opened his mouth to respond but Connor was quicker. "The kid's staying here."

Smecker raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? It wouldn't hurt to have a third man to watch your back."

"He's staying the fuck here," Connor repeated, his tone letting everyone know that this wasn't up for discussion.

Looking across the table, Smecker noticed the downfallen expression on Edwards' face. He glanced questioningly over at Murphy who simply stared back at him, silently backing his brother's decision. Shrugging his shoulders, Smecker nodded. "All right then, it's your call, if that's how you want it." Sighing, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "We need to talk about the pennies."

"What about them?" Connor asked, looking confused.

"I know you feel they are important, but I need you to consider not using them for the time being." When Connor started to protest Smecker held up a hand and continued. "Now just listen for a minute, hear me out. You have to think about this from the perspective of someone who is trying to keep you boys from going back to prison. As of now, nobody knows where to even begin looking for you. My resources tell me that the Marshal in charge of your case has hit a bit of a standstill. He has lost your scent and he's looking for absolutely anything to get himself back on the right track. If you use the pennies tonight, everyone will know who is responsible and it will bring him right to you. He will be hot on your trail before the bodies even cool."

Connor looked over, catching his brother's eyes, silently questioning him. Several moments passed before Murphy gave a slight shake of his head and Connor nodded in agreement to whatever had been decided. "No," he said, turning back to Smecker. "We're using the pennies. We _want_ Dawson to know exactly who's coming for him. I understand it will attract unwanted attention but that just means we'll have to be extra careful."

Smecker rubbed his hands over his face before dropping them heavily into his lap, fixing Connor with a pensive expression. "You know what will happen if they get you back into custody, don't you?" He looked from Connor over to Murphy and when neither brother responded, he continued, filling in the blanks. "You'll both be locked safely away in a supermax with no hope of escape. In case you haven't heard what those places are like, allow me to enlighten you. Trips to a supermax are one way only, once you go in you don't come out. They will hold you for an indefinite period of time. You can expect to spend twenty-three hours a day locked in an isolation cell, the one hour of exercise time you will be granted will be spent alone. You will have limited human contact, even with prison staff, your meals served through a slot in the door. No visitors, no phone calls, and you can damn well guarantee that you will never be allowed to see each other again. It's the kind of place that will make a man crazy."

Connor had to work hard to suppress a shudder at the thought of him and Murphy being locked away and left to rot like rabid dogs. He couldn't allow that to happen. And yet, it was important that people remembered why the Saints did this. They were freeing tortured souls, sending them to their judgment and it served as a warning to all the evil-doers in the world. Looking up, Connor found everyone watching him, waiting for some sort of response. "We'll just have to stay alert and be extra cautious to ensure that doesn't happen." He glanced to Murphy as he said it and his brother gave him a nod of acceptance.

Smecker ran an agitated hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. "You certainly don't want to make things easy on me, do you?" Shaking his head, he relaxed back into his chair. "Fine, it's your call to make. But just remember that helping the Saints is as much my mission as killing these cocksuckers is yours. I'm only trying to ensure that you stay out of prison long enough to fulfill your task."

Connor and Murphy both nodded. "We appreciate it, Smecker," Murphy said quietly.

Smecker gave them a small smile and shrugged. "Anyway, the main reason for my visit, I have something I think you boys will want for tonight." Reaching down into a bag that was slung over his shoulder, he pulled out two identical brown packages, handing one off to Connor and the other to Murphy.

Connor gave the man a quizzical look but Smecker simply motioned for them to open them up. After a quick glimpse in his brother's direction, Connor tore his way easily through the brown paper covering the items, Murphy following suit. His eyes widened in shock and a grin split his face as he threw the paper aside and took in the soft wool of a brand new, black pea coat and the beautifully polished wooden beads of the rosary that came with it. Looking over, he saw that his twin had gotten the same thing and they both smiled at each other. Connor picked up the rosary, admiring the fine craftsmanship before placing it around his neck and reaching for the coat. Grabbing the article of clothing by the shoulders, he held it up for inspection. As he shook the coat out, a piece of paper that had been tucked away in the folded wool slipped out and floated gently to the ground. Setting the coat down, Connor bent in his chair and snatched the paper off the floor. Straightening, he turned it over in his hands, scanning the message that was written on the other side.

 _Boys,_

 _I knew how much your old ones meant to you so I had these made. They came all the way from Ireland so now you can keep a piece of home close to your heart. I want you both to know that your Da would be so incredibly proud of everything you boys are doing. I am planning on heading back to Ireland in a few days but if you lads need anything at all, Smecker knows how to get in contact with me. I will be sure to let your Ma know that her boys are doing all right, you know how she gets to worrying. Be careful, take care of each other, and I'll be in touch._

 _Sibeal_

Connor read through the note a second time, a sad smile on his face, before passing it off to Murphy who was watching him curiously. Reaching a hand out, Connor caressed the soft wool of his new coat and couldn't help pang of homesickness that the item kindled within him. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that he would likely never see his homeland again. Him and Murphy would be spending the rest of their lives running, fighting, and hiding. It would be foolish of him to think they could ever go back. He wouldn't risk the trouble that would bring down on his family. But that didn't mean he didn't miss it. Ireland would always hold a special place in his heart, but what they were doing now was more important than his desire to feel the comfort and safety of home. Besides, even if they did return, their Ma would likely kill them both anyway.

When him and Murphy had returned home after spending nearly nine years in the states, Annabelle MacManus had been elated to see her sons again. Unfortunately, when the murder of father Douglas McKinney pulled them back to Boston, they had left so abruptly that they hadn't even taken the time to let her know they were leaving. The woman was probably furious with them. She would string them up by their ears if they ever showed their face there again.

He smiled fondly at the images that thought created. He and Murph may have been well into their thirties but that woman still scared the shit out of them. Connor knew their Ma would never actually threaten their lives but he wouldn't put it past her to try and bend them over her knee like she did when they were kids. At this point though, Connor would gladly risk getting whacked across the ass if it meant he could see his family and the beautiful rolling green of the Irish countryside again.

He looked up as Murphy passed the note back to him and he could see a similar longing in his twin's eyes. They made eye contact briefly before simultaneously reaching for their new coats and sliding their arms through the sleeves, both nodding in satisfaction. They fit perfectly.

"He wanted to make sure you had them before tonight." Smecker spoke quietly, breaking through the moment.

"Thank you," Connor said sincerely.

Smecker nodded. "No thanks necessary," he assured. "I should be on my way." Standing from his chair, he fixed them all with a sober expression. "I'm only going to ask you this one more time, whatever your answer, I'll leave it at that. Are you sure this is the way you want to go about this? I understand your reasons for wanting to start at the bottom and work your way up to the Big Dog, but there are risks that go along with that plan. It's obvious that Dawson has many resources, and while we are not sure what exactly he is capable of, I can guarantee he will not hesitate to fight back. He won't go down easily and he is going to know just who to bring his fight to." He looked back and forth between the brothers to make his point. "You're no longer anonymous vigilantes. Your faces and names are all over the media and you can't expect to be able to hide behind masks to protect yourselves this time. By not taking him out while you have the element of surprise, you're giving him the chance to bring this war to you."

Murphy watched his brother closely, waiting for his response. He still wasn't entirely convinced that this was the best route to take but Connor had made some valid points. In the end, Murphy had agreed. He trusted his twin's judgment and if Connor felt this was the right course, he would back him. He watched as Connor silently pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it up, taking a long drag before raising his eyes to meet his. Murphy stared openly back at his brother, allowing him to see his acceptance of whatever he decided.

"We'll go ahead with the plan," Connor spoke up after a several moments of contemplative silence.

Smecker nodded. "Alright then, I'll let you boys get back to it," he said, motioning to the guns still covering the tabletop.

Connor and Murphy both gained their feet, intending to walk the man to the door. Passing through the living room Smecker reached for the handle on the front door and paused, turning back to the brothers. "Be safe and call me when it's done," he said, waiting for Connor and Murphy to both nod in acknowledgment before pulling open the door and disappearing down the hallway.

The rest of the day passed by at an agonizingly slow pace and the brothers spent the time quietly, each off in their own head. By the time the sun had set and the hour of action finally rolled around, Connor's lungs ached from the two packs of cigarettes he had smoked and Murphy had just finished rechecking his weapons for the fifteenth time.

The anxious energy that had filled the small apartment for the majority of the day had shifted, turning into an air of murderous intensity and focus. Connor stole random glances at his brother as they both stood in the kitchen, adjusting their shoulder holsters and giving their firearms a final once over before sliding them into place. Murphy looked up after sliding a knife into his boot and gave a curt nod. It was time. They both kissed their new rosaries before tucking them into their shirts and grabbing their coats off the table.

Edwards was waiting for them on the couch in the living room and when they walked through on their way to the door, he stood to his feet and approached them. He wanted to argue and yell at them for making him stay behind but he knew that wasn't what they needed right now. He settled for giving Murphy a light pat on the shoulder and a quick nod in Connor's direction. "Watch your ass's out there. I'll be standing by, call if there's a problem."

Murphy gave the young man's arm a light squeeze. "We'll be back soon," he said encouragingly. Turning to Connor he took a deep breath and met his twin's intense gaze. "You ready, brother?"

Reaching for the doorknob, Connor pushed away all his doubts and nerves and forced a dangerous smile onto his face. "Aye, let's fucking do this."

Murphy mirrored his brother's expression and they both slipped out, closing the door quietly behind them.

 _Chapter revised 2/6/18_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Charlie Weston wasn't the type of man to give up when the going got tough. In his mind, failure was never an option. His father used to tell him, _'A man can only fail if he bows to defeat.'_ It was a philosophy that was drilled into him during his childhood and he applied it to nearly every aspect of his life. It was this mindset, combined with the discipline and focus developed during his time spent as an Army Ranger, which helped build his career and reputation as one of the most tenacious and persistent fugitive hunters in the U.S. Marshal Service.

Eight years, he had been a Marshal for eight years and his record was still as pristine as they day he began. He had yet to meet his match in cunningness and pure unbending obstinacy. Once he was given an assignment, that was it, he didn't let go until he had his man in custody. It didn't matter how far he had to chase them; he always won.

This case wasn't any different. He may have hit a brick wall there, briefly, but he sure as hell didn't plan on giving up. Despite the fact that the Saints had all but disappeared, he stuck with it, spending many sleepless nights, putting in the hours and work in attempt to track them down. They were close; he could feel it in his bones. The MacManus brothers were not going to remain hidden much longer. They would slip up and he would be ready for them.

Today was finally that day. He received a call in the middle of the night, there had been a mass murder in the middle of central Brooklyn, ten dead, all known members of a local street gang, all bearing pennies in their eyes. Sure, any overzealous wackjob with a gun trying to play hero could go on a rampage in the name of the Saints, but Weston's gut was fairly screaming at him that that wasn't the case here. His instincts had never failed him, always guiding him in the right direction, and he certainly wasn't going to start ignoring them now. It was them, and, as he stood amongst the carnage in this shitty Brooklyn apartment, that fact was only solidified in his mind.

Coroners, evidence collectors, and forensic investigators moved around him in a flurry of activity but Weston simply remained still, taking in every detail of the bloody scene. The FBI was taking point on this investigation and it was being left up to them to determine whether or not the real Saints of South Boston were responsible for this massacre or if it was the work of a copycat. Weston stayed out of their way as they worked, already having answered that question for himself.

He had spent more than a few restless nights poring over every file of every crime scene the Saints had ever been linked to and within moments of arriving on scene, he had been able to pick up on the small details that told him what he had been both waiting and hoping to hear. This wasn't the work of a copycat. He may not have been some fancy special agent investigator but he knew the mind of his prey and he easily recognized their work.

The people responsible for this mess were no strangers to violence, seasoned veterans in the art of killing. There was no hint of hesitation in these hits. Each shot was delivered quickly and precisely. The four men found dead outside the entrance to the building were taken out with one perfectly aimed shot each. The skill required to draw a weapon and pop off four, flawlessly lethal headshots before your victims can even think about reaching for their guns proves that whoever did this is obviously a master of their craft.

Two men were found in the doorway of the apartment, dead where they fell. Ballistics had determined that both men had been killed by the same bullet. That was an interesting mystery. It appeared that the targets of this hit were not quite the marksmen their attackers were, if the random scores of bullet holes in the walls surrounding the doorway were any indication. That and the only blood found on scene belonged to the dead men who had been left there. Two of the three men lying on the living room floor had been killed cleanly and quickly, however, the third man had taken a messy shot to the abdomen before being finished off with a close range shot to the head.

Weston moved further into the apartment and rounded the corner, entering the blood-spattered kitchen. A dark haired man in a sharp, navy blue suit was crouched down next to a body lying in the middle of a thick pool of blood. He was examining a bullet hole with his latex covered hands and when he noticed Weston approaching, he stood up and moved toward him.

"Marshal Weston," he greeted in a brisk, bushiness-like tone. Peeling off his bloody examination gloves with a snap, he tossed them in a bin nearby before extending his hand toward the Marshal. "I'm Special Agent Kuntsler, we've been expecting you."

Weston accepted the Agent's hand, giving it a firm shake. He recognized this man from the MacManus brothers file as the agent responsible for the capture and arrest of the Saints. It didn't surprise him to see that Kuntsler had been reassigned to this case.

Weston nodded and placed his hands on his hips. "So, what's the verdict?" he asked, looking around at the gruesome scene surrounding him. "You think it's them?" He already knew the answer to that question but he was still curious to hear the Special Agent's thoughts on the matter.

Kuntsler looked to the body at his feet, eyes narrowed in disgust. "There's not a doubt in my mind, Marshal. Everything I've seen here today fits perfectly with every other crime scene left behind by the MacManus brothers. The guns used are the same caliber of weapon typically used by the Saints, along with the obvious use of silencers." He bent back down and pointed out the burn marks surrounding the two bullet holes going through the head of the corpse. "The accuracy and precision of each kill proves this wasn't just some amateur copycat. Then there's the execution style murder of this man here." He sighed as he straightened back up, indicating the man on the ground. "His name is Deion Marcus. Every man in here belonged to a street gang that has been on our radar for some time now known as the Red Spade Demons, but this man wasn't just another faceless member. Deion, here, was the head honcho. He must have been their main target."

Weston bobbed his head in appreciation, pleased to see that they were on the same page.

"There is one thing, however, that isn't making sense to me." Kuntsler continued, a troubled look on his face. "The Saints have never been known to play with their victims. They kill quickly and efficiently, no messing around, and yet Deion is sporting multiple gunshot wounds that appear to have been inflicted at close range." The agent kneeled back down and motioned to the crimson ringed holes in both of the gangster's kneecaps before pointing to the third hole in the center of the man's hand.

Weston's eyes widened in surprise as realization dawned on him. "They tortured him," he stated quietly as he bent down to examine the body himself. He thought quietly for a few moments before a thought hit him. "You boys aren't done here yet, are you?" he mused.

Kuntsler looked at him curiously. "You really think they're still in New York? Surely they're smarter than that. They have to know the kind of attention this will draw."

Weston looked over at the Agent from where he was crouched over, his elbows resting on his knees. "Not only do I think they're still in the city, but I believe they already have their next hit lined up."

Kuntsler looked confused. "And what makes you think that?"

"The Saints operate purely on the belief that what they are doing is for the good of society. They truly believe they are carrying out God's commands by sending evil men to the gates of judgment." Weston motioned back to Deion's body. "Torture isn't their thing unless it could help them carry out their mission."

"Okay, so, they torture him for information on… what? They've already killed the leader of this band of thugs. It doesn't go any higher than him. Without Deion the Red Spades will be severely crippled and probably crumble into nothing. What more could they get out of this?" Kuntsler ran a hand through his thick hair, causing it to stick up in all directions.

Weston sighed. He didn't have all the answers. "I don't know, but they wouldn't torture him without a cause so there has to be more here than what we're seeing."

Agent Kuntsler wiped his hands across his pants as he straightened back up. "Well, it sounds like we have a lot to work do, then."

"We?" Weston arched an eyebrow. "I thought the FBI was only here to confirm that this was in fact the work of the Saints."

"The FBI and U.S. Marshal Service are coming together on this one," Kuntsler clarified as he pushed past Weston on his way back through the apartment. "Don't look so worried, Marshal, this is still your manhunt. We're simply here to aid your department in anyway we can."

"I see," Weston replied, slightly skeptical. It was always tricky when two departments came together like this and it often led to a giant pissing match. He passed through the front door at the same time he spotted his partner, Marshal Steven Garcia, walking down the hallway toward him. "Get anything useful?" he questioned once the man had stepped up next to him.

Garcia shook his head in annoyance. "Nah, man, none of these people are going to talk to us. Everyone in this building is claiming to have not seen anything."

Weston nodded, not really expecting anything different. "Alright then, let's get out of here, we've got some research to do."

"Why? Did you find something?"

Weston smirked at his partner. "Maybe. We need to find out everything we can about the street gang known as the Red Spade Demons. I think our boys are still in the city and I don't believe they're done yet."

/ / /

"Now's our chance, Murph," Connor whispered back to his brother as he peered around the corner of the apartment building they were preparing to enter. They had been lying low, lingering in the shadows for the better part of thirty minutes, waiting for the street to be clear of random passersby before they made their move. They could have been in, out, and on their way home already had it not been for the four gentlemen keeping watch out front of the building. It was common, especially in neighborhoods such as these, to see gang members loitering outside of a location, standing guard against rival gangs or waiting to raise the alarm should the police start sniffing around and Connor cursed himself for not having foreseen this problem.

While it was a setback, it wasn't exactly a deal breaker. They had every intention of taking these men out along with the rest of their friends, they would just have to wait for the right moment in order to avoid being seen before they even had an opportunity to finish the job.

"About fucking time," Murphy responded impatiently, bouncing on his toes in a mixture of excitement and an attempt to keep warm in the frigid night air.

Connor moved back behind the side of the building and turned to face his brother. "There's only four of them, it should be pretty simple. We'll just walk right on up and as soon as we're close enough, we take them out. You get the two on the right, I'll get the two on the left, yeah?"

Murphy nodded, following as Connor stepped out from their hiding spot and made for the entrance of the apartment complex. The street was eerily quiet and Connor could have sworn that he could hear the hammering of his own heart as it thrummed wildly against his chest. He swallowed hard, wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans, but gave no other outwardly indication as to just how nervous he truly was about what was to come.

The four gang members at the front door took notice of the two men headed toward them and stepped forward, ready to intercept. "Is there something we can fucking help you wi-"

The man never got the chance to finish his thought as Connor and Murphy both reached for their weapons, pulling them from their holsters in one fluid movement before firing off two rapid shots each. The sound of suppressed gunfire cut through the silence of the night and all four men dropped to the ground at the same time.

Tucking his guns back into place under his coat, Connor glanced quickly around them to ensure that their actions had gone unnoticed.

"All right," Murphy said with a large smile, nodding his head in approval. "That was some fine fucking shooting, if I do say so myself."

Satisfied that they were still alone, Connor turned back to his brother, giving him a nudge with his elbow. "Don't get cocky, Murph. Overconfidence makes you negligent, that's what gets you killed."

"Fuck you, I'm not being cocky, I'm simply pointing out the fine quality of our marksmanship skills," Murphy returned the nudge with a light shove.

Connor held up a finger in warning. The large dose of adrenaline flowing through his system combined with his own perturbation was leaving him with a rather short fuse and he didn't have the patience to put up with his twin's childish antics at the moment. He was just ready for this to be over so he could breath again. "Just stay fucking focused, alright?" he chided.

Murphy rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ma." The comment earned him a smack upside the head and he winced, covering the spot with his hand before turning, preparing to lunge at his brother.

"Hey!" Connor shouted, holding up his hands to fend off Murphy's attack. "I said stay fucking focused! We don't have time for this shit, fucking keep it together!" When Murphy halted his forward rush, Connor pushed past him, motioning to the four bodies lying on the ground. "Now, help me move these assholes before someone sees."

Backing off, Murphy grudgingly obeyed and walked up the few steps to where the men were laying on the ground, grumbling under his breath as he went. He stopped at the body closest to him and bent down, preparing to move it when Connor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Check them first, Murph. I want to make sure they're all Red Spades." Showing his brother what he meant, Connor reached down and pulled the dead man's shirtsleeve up to his elbow, revealing the intricate demon tattoo displayed on his forearm. It was a brand carried by all Red Spade Demon members and a quick inspection proved that all four men bore the mark.

Connor nodded in satisfaction and together they quickly cleared the entrance to the building, relocating the bodies behind the overgrown bushes along the edge of the walkway. Breathing heavily from the exertion of the task, Connor followed Murphy to the front door of the complex and gave one last cautious look out at the quiet street before entering the building.

Once inside, they made straight for the stairwell and climbed swiftly up to the sixth floor of the ten-story complex. Connor had memorized the apartment number from the file that Smecker had given them and he stealthily led the way toward their objective. The run-down hallways of the building were dimly lit at best, making it easy for them to pass through like silent shadows. The sounds of the other tenants filtered out from underneath the door of each apartment they walked by, filling the hall with a blend of crying babies, blaring televisions, and angry shouting. Connor felt his senses tingling as he read off the numbers on the doors they passed. _615, 616, 617…_ _should be right around the corner_.

Just before rounding the next bend, Connor had a thought and quickly motioned for Murphy to stop behind him. He put a finger up to his lips, silencing his brother's questions before moving very slowly to peek around the wall. Once he got a good look he turned back to his twin, shaking his head. "That's what I fucking thought. They've a man guarding the door," he said, keeping his voice low.

Murphy shrugged, not surprised in the least. "So? That doesn't change anything. Depending on how good their locks are, it might actually help us."

Connor nodded, easily picking up on his brother's train of thought. "Aye, it might."

"I'll go first, get his attention, then you come up behind him?" Murphy suggested.

Connor shook his head. "No, I'll go first. Wait till he has his back towards you, then you can follow."

Murphy narrowed his eyes and looked like he wanted to protest but Connor didn't give him the chance before stepping out from around the corner and sauntering casually down the hallway. As he drew closer to the man standing guard, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of smokes, plucking one out and placing it between his lips. The gangster outside the apartment was leaning heavily against the wall, absorbed with the phone in his hand. He was obviously bored with the job he had been assigned, but he still raised his eyes long enough to shoot a dangerous glare at Connor as he meandered by.

Connor waited until he was a good five feet past the apartment before swearing out loud and making a show of patting himself down. After a moment of searching through his pockets, he turned back and headed toward the man behind him, flashing him a sheepish smile. "Hey there, you wouldn't happen to have a light by chance, would ya?" he asked innocently, motioning to his unlit cigarette still dangling between his lips.

As Connor approached, the gangster pushed away from the wall and squared himself up threateningly with him. "Man, I ain't got nothing for you here. Move the fuck along," he spat out aggressively.

As soon as the man's back was turned, Murphy came out from behind the corner and began slinking quietly down the hall toward them, gun drawn. Knowing he had to stall for just a few moments longer, Connor held his hands up non-threateningly in an attempt to pacify the angry man. "Take it easy, now. C'mon, I just need a quick light and I'll be on my way."

The gangster's face twisted up in a mixture of annoyance and outrage and he took another step forward, invading Connor's space. "Man, what the fuck did I just tell you?" he asked harshly, his arm sliding around behind his back reaching for something under his shirt.

Connor tensed when he saw the man go for what was most likely a weapon, but was saved from having to react when the sound of Murphy's Beretta being cocked stopped the thug in his tracks. "Drop the fucking gun, right now!" Murphy demanded, his voice low and feral. The gangster's eyes narrowed and he stood, unmoving, as he thought through his options. Several tense moments passed and Murphy pressed the barrel of his gun into the back of the man's head impatiently. "I said fucking drop it," he growled again.

In a split second decision, the gangster seemed to find his courage and spun quickly around, intending go after Murphy. It was the wrong choice. In the blink of an eye, Connor was on the man, tackling him against the opposite wall in the hallway. Before he could fight back, Connor landed a solid punch to the guy's face, causing the gun to fall from his fingers onto the floor. Murphy was quick to follow and pinned the man's head to the wall with the thick barrel of his silencer pressed in between his eyes.

"Alright, alright, alright, Jesus, what the fuck do you guys want?" he submitted, his eyes wide with fear.

Connor stepped away, trusting Murphy to keep the man in place as he kicked the gun down the hall out of reach. "I want to know how many guys are in there." He said, motioning to the apartment door behind him.

The thug looked confused. "What? Why? Who the fuck are you guys?"

Murphy increased the pressure of his gun on the man's forehead. "That doesn't matter. Answer his fucking question."

"I ain't telling you assholes nothin'," he spat defiantly.

Impatience and frustration coursed through Connor, causing him to connect his fist with the guy's face once more before drawing his own weapon and aiming it into the man's neck. "You ever watched a man die after being shot in the throat?" he questioned suggestively. When the man refused to answer, Connor continued on his own. "Well, I have and let me tell you, it looked pretty fucking agonizing."

"Aye, it took longer than I thought, too. The poor bastard choked for at least five minuets before finally drowning in his own fluids," Murphy added helpfully.

The gangster's jaw clinched at the vivid imagery but he remained silent.

"Alright then, I guess if it's that important to you…" Connor finished the statement by cocking the hammer back on his gun.

The man they held pinned against the wall began visibly shaking and his breathing was so rapid it was a miracle that he hadn't passed out from hyperventilation. Connor tensed his finger over the trigger to show he was serious and the gangster dissolved into a sweaty blathering mess. "Ok, ok, Jesus! Goddamnit! Crazy motherfuckers!" Connor backed off just a hair and waited for the man to continue. "There are five guys, but even if you did manage to get through that door, you wouldn't stand a fucking chance. Every single one of them is armed to the teeth."

Connor glanced over at Murphy who nodded back at him and removed his gun from the man's head. Stepping behind the gangster, Connor grabbed him roughly by the collar and pushed him across the hall so he was standing directly in front of the peephole in the door. Murphy took up a position just off to the side, out of the line of sight, and Connor hid himself behind the man's large frame, keeping his gun pressed firmly into the his back.

"Knock on the door," Connor ordered.

"C'mon, man, they'll kill me if I do this!" the thug whined.

Connor dug his weapon hard into his kidney as a reminder of the situation. "And you think we won't? Knock," he demanded again.

"Man…" he shook his head but he did as he was told, rapping his thick knuckles against the door twice.

A few tensely loaded moments passed and Connor made eye contact with his brother one more time. _This is it,_ he thought to himself and Murphy nodded back at him in understanding.

There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the door before another second of silence, then the sound of locks being turned over. The door was pulled halfway open and the man on the other side began shouting angrily. "Jay, what the fuck you doin', man? This better be fucking impor-"

He never got the chance to finish. Connor fired off a shot, point blank into the back of the head of the man he was holding in front of him and the bullet passed clean through the guy's skull, continuing to fly until it found it's home in the head of the unlucky soul that answered the door. Both gang members collapsed simultaneously to the ground and Connor and Murphy wasted no time, leaping over their dead bodies and busting through the open door of the apartment.

The second they entered, a spray of bullets peppered the wall and door behind them, a few stray shots finding their way out into the hall, and Connor instantly pulled Murphy to the ground, shielding his brother's body with his own. He could hear his twin protesting his sacrifice but Connor ignored him and held firm, raising his Beretta he fired back in the direction the shots were coming from. _So much for catching them off guard,_ he thought.

Connor could feel himself tensing in anticipation, expecting to feel the bite of a bullet that never came. When he began returning fire he heard a man yelp in pain and the hail of lead raining down around them lessened enough that he risked moving from his protective position, pulling Murphy into the hallway just off the entrance. Bullets continued to pelt the wall they were taking cover behind, puncturing through the drywall and plaster, and the brothers hunkered down as close to the floor as possible.

Connor looked over to see Murphy glaring at him and knew his twin was angry with him for his complete lack of self-preservation, but now wasn't the time to get into that. They needed to end this and end it quickly. Disregarding his brother's anger, Connor removed his second gun from its holster and crawled forward on his belly, peering around the bottom of the corner. Not expecting an attack from that angle, the gangsters failed to notice when he brought both of his guns up and opened fire. There were only three men left standing and that number was quickly reduced to one as Connor showed off his fatally accurate aim.

As soon as he realized he was alone, the last man, whom Connor recognized as Deion, their main target, made a dash for the kitchen, taking cover behind the counter. Turning back, Connor motioned for his brother to move forward. "There's one left, Murph. It's him, he's hiding in the kitchen. Keep him pinned down in there, I'm going to check the others, make sure they're dead. We don't need any surprises."

Murphy started to protest his brother's plan but Connor was off and moving into the line of fire before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "Damn it, Connor," he cursed under his breath as he quickly trained his weapon toward the kitchen, providing his twin with cover. Murphy was aware of Connor finishing off one of the men in the living room who had taken a less lethal hit to the abdomen at the same time he saw the barrel of a gun peek up and over the counter. Taking a split second to aim, he squeezed the trigger and the pop of his silencer was accompanied by a pained howl. The gun disappeared and Murphy jumped to his feet, making a dash for the kitchen.

"Watch yourself, Murph," Connor cautioned from where he was bent over checking the other two bodies on the living room floor.

Murphy spared his brother a glance before slowly slipping around the edge of the counter. He could see blood splattered across the white linoleum of the kitchen floor and another step revealed Deion lying on his side, cradling a bloody hand.

When he spotted Murphy coming around the side of the island, he made a lunge for his gun, which had gotten flung into the middle of the kitchen after nearly having his hand shot off.

Murphy saw the gang leader's intentions and rushed forward, attempting to reach the weapon first. Deion's fingers curled around the grip and he raised it up to fire but he was too slow. Murphy reached him first and pushed the man's arm straight up so that the shot meant for him ended up embedded in the ceiling.

When the sound of a gun that clearly didn't belong to his brother was discharged in the kitchen, Connor's heart nearly jumped from his chest and he leapt to his feet in panic. "Murphy!" he shouted as he made for the threshold of the kitchen. He felt relief flood through his body at the sight that greeted him and he moved forward to help his brother who was straddling Deion's hips, delivering him a few heavy punches.

When Connor stepped up next to him, Murphy stood to his feet and grabbed Deion by the front of his shirt, hauling him upwards. They had to make this quick, it wouldn't be long before their little firefight drew in every cop in East Flatbush.

"What the fuck!" Deion exclaimed as he was thrown hard against the refrigerator. "Who the fuck are you guys?" he asked incredulously.

Connor and Murphy both took aim at his head, ignoring the question. "When is Dawson's next shipment coming in?" Connor asked, keeping the man pressed back with a vice grip around his throat.

"Irish?" Deion questioned upon hearing Connor's accent. "Man, I ain't got no beef with the Irish. I stay out of your territory and I stay out of your business, what in the hell do you want from me?"

Murphy chuckled humorlessly. "We're not with the mob and we sure as fuck don't belong to some pathetic street gang. We're here on our own, and unfortunately for you, the only person we answer to is God. Now, answer the fucking question."

Deion looked back and forth between the two brothers in confusion before his eyes suddenly widened. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed as if he had just made some huge revelation. "Holy fucking shit, you gotta be fucking kidding me! You're those Saint assholes! What the hell are you crazy motherfuckers doing in Brooklyn?"

"Our form of justice knows no boundaries." Connor responded impatiently. "It's time the rest of your kind realized that. Now, when is the next shipment due?"

"Man, I don't know what the fuck you're talking abo-"

Murphy didn't wait for him to finish before he moved his Beretta down to Deion's kneecap, pulling the trigger without hesitation. The sound of pure agony that was ripped from the man's throat would have made you think they had cut the guys leg off.

Connor didn't give him a chance to recover before tightening his grip his throat and questioning him again. "The next shipment, when is it?!"

Deion was drenched in sweat and every time he opened his mouth to speak the only sound that came out was a pathetic whimper. Murphy moved his gun over to his other knee and pulled the hammer back suggestively, causing him to stammer.

"Man, I don't… I don't know what… don't know what you're talking about. You're both fucking crazy!"

Murphy looked him in the eye as he pulled the trigger a second time and watched as Deion's face screwed up in anguish. Connor loosened his grip and allowed the screaming man to crash to the floor. Murphy knelt down, pushing his knee into his sternum as Connor pulled his arm out to the side, targeting his pointer finger. The implied threat was unnecessary. Deion had had enough.

"Friday! Jesus Christ, it's coming in on Friday. We were told to be there to collect it at eleven PM Friday night."

Connor looked up at his brother who increased the pressure of his knee on Deion's chest. "Where?" Murphy demanded.

Deion squeezed his eyes shut. He was so pale he looked as if he were fixing to pass out. His movements were becoming less frantic as his body started to go slack and Connor reached over, roughly patting his sweaty cheek in an attempt to bring him back. They still needed more information.

"Where at, Deion?" he asked loudly. When the man didn't respond, Connor moved his gun down and pressed heavily onto the bullet hole in his knee. Deion cried out and his eyes snapped open. "Where?" Connor tried again.

"Fuck… fuckin'… Columbia Street, 750 Columbia Street. Warehouse over in… over in Red Hook."

Connor looked up, nodding at Murphy and they both stood to their feet. Reaching down, Connor pulled Deion up as much as he could and moved to stand behind him next to his twin. Both brothers raised their weapons to the back of the gang leader's head and took up their prayer in unison.

" _And Shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nominee Patris, et Filii, Spiritus Sancti."_

The pop of two suppressed gunshots sounded, signaling an end to the chaos that reigned only moments before. Deion slumped to the ground and Connor looked over at his brother who was breathing heavily, staring down at the body in front of them with a disturbed look on his face.

"You all right, Murph?" he asked gently. This had been a first for them. They had never had to torture someone for their cause and he could feel the mixture of emotions it had created in his twin's soul.

Murphy nodded wordlessly as he stared at Deion's hunched form for a second longer before turning angry eyes onto his brother, giving him a rough shove. "You want to fucking explain to me what the fuck that was back there?" he asked, his temper seething.

Connor did his best to look confused. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Murphy pointed an angry finger in his twin's face. "You know exactly what the fuck I'm talking about. You don't get to just try and sacrifice yourself for me like that. We are in this equally, together, and I don't need you to fucking babysit me. Don't think I didn't notice that you took the most vulnerable positions upon yourself tonight. That's not how we fucking do this, Connor."

Connor shook his head but didn't deny the things his twin was saying. "We don't have time for this right now, Murph. We should have been gone ten minutes ago." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of pennies and held them out to his brother. "We need to pray for them and get the fuck out of here."

Murphy accepted the pennies and pushed angrily past his brother. "Don't think we're done talking about this," he yelled over his shoulder as he moved into the living room.

Connor knew that Murphy was right. He should have known that his attempts to keep his brother protected would not go unnoticed, but, honestly, he didn't really care at this point. Their job was done and Murphy was alive. That was all that mattered to him. Kneeling down, he rolled Deion onto his back, crossing the man's arms over his chest before placing two pennies on his eyes. He mumbled a quick prayer before crossing himself, standing to his feet and walking to the living room.

Together, the brothers tended to the other three men in the apartment and the two in the doorway before slipping silently back through the hallways of the complex. The streets were still quiet when they stepped out of the front entrance of the building and they took a moment to see to the men they had placed behind the bushes before walking swiftly down the sidewalk and disappearing into the darkness of an unlit ally.

 _Chapter revised 11-7-17_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Connor could feel his brother's eyes boring into him from the passenger seat but he chose to ignore it, keeping his gaze fixed on the road ahead. After slipping away from Deion's apartment building, they made their way back toward the car they had left parked four blocks down. Smecker had managed to fix them up with an older, slightly rusted Buick Century, nothing too fancy in order to remain inconspicuous, but still reliable enough they didn't have to worry about it breaking down. With the car came strict orders that it was only to be used during situations like this where it was absolutely unavoidable. Being out in the open was risky enough but being out driving was just asking for trouble. All it would take was one overzealous traffic cop and it would be game over for them.

That knowledge made them both edgy and they kept a careful watch on their surroundings as they drove through the quiet, sparsely lit streets on their way back to Brownsville. Well, Connor kept watch, Murphy just sat, seemingly content with his attempts to make his twin as uncomfortable as possible with his death glares. It was working.

Connor glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye and shook his head in annoyance. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he tossed it into Murphy's lap. "Call Smecker, would ya? Tell him we made it out alright, and tell him I'll contact him tomorrow with details on the next job."

Murphy picked up the phone and flipped it open, quickly dialing Smecker's secure number before returning his steely gaze back to Connor who simply rolled his eyes, shaking his head at his brother's stubbornness. There was a moment of silence before the ringing on the phone was replaced by the sound of Smecker's voice.

"Aye, Smecker, it's Murphy. It's done, we're on our way back." There was another silence as Smecker spoke again. "No, no problems. We got what we needed to make our next move. Connor says he'll get in touch with you tomorrow to discuss a plan." Murphy nodded at whatever Smecker was saying. "Aye, talk to ya then." He flipped the phone closed and tossed it harshly back at his twin.

Connor shot his brother an irritated look. "What the fuck, Murph?" he asked incredulously. His twin was still glaring daggers at him and Connor's patience hit it's limit. "You got a fucking problem, Murph, just come on out and say it," he snapped.

"I've told you what my fucking problem is, Connor. I'm just waiting for you to explain to me what the hell is going on with you."

Connor growled, clinching the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "So…what, hmm? You're mad at me for not letting a group of gangsters put a bunch of fucking holes in you? Is that it? You would rather I just stand by and watch you get killed? Don't be such a fucking hypocrite, Murphy! I didn't do anything that you wouldn't have done yourself."

Murphy shook his head and tore his gaze away from his brother in frustration, choosing instead to stare out the passenger side window and gnaw on his thumbnail. He remained quiet as he sifted through his feelings, not really sure what to say to that. Sure, if Connor were in danger, Murphy would do everything he could to try and help his brother. But what Connor did tonight, that was different. When those bullets started flying and he covered Murphy's body with his own, that wasn't just protection, that was a sacrifice, and the thought that his twin was so readily willing to surrender his own life just to save him brought Murphy's fury back full force.

Turning back, he pointed an angry finger in Connor's direction. "You shouldn't have done what you did," he said loudly. "We look out for each other and we watch each other's backs but what you did tonight, Connor, that was different and you fucking know it."

Connor tried opening his mouth to speak but Murphy talked over him. "You used to trust that I could handle myself but you've been breathing down my neck all damn night, acting like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. That's not how we do things, Connor. We can't fucking work like that!"

The muscles in Connor's jaw clinched and he kept his eyes pinned to the road. "What do you want me to say, Murph?" he asked, his tone sounding strangely defeated. "You want me to apologize for saving your life?"

Murphy pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "No, Connor, what I want is for you to tell me what the fuck is going on with you. Talk to me." he pleaded, the anger disappearing from his voice.

Connor shook his head "There's nothing to fucking talk about. I was just trying to watch your back. That's all."

Murphy let his head fall back against the headrest as he scrubbed his face with his hands. That was a lie. Everything about Connor tonight had been different. The changes were subtle, really more of a feeling than anything, but to Murphy, who knew his brother's moods and emotions almost better than his own, the difference was as plain as day and impossible to ignore.

When it came to fulfilling their mission, Connor was always cool, calm, and collected, steady as a fucking rock. Tonight, however, the confidence that Murphy had come to rely on had been replaced by something else, something far more desperate, and it scared him a little to sense such a drastic shift in his twin's psyche. To anybody else, Connor would have seemed the picture of calm, no hesitation and completely in control, but Murphy could see it. He could feel it. Connor was afraid.

After witnessing his twin's behavior tonight, Murphy knew now that this was the change he had been sensing for the past several weeks. This was why Connor had been acting so distant and withdrawn. He was afraid, and judging by the way he was acting, it wasn't hard to figure out what it was that had him so scared.

Despite the fact that their Ma had always refused to reveal which of them was the first born, Connor had always naturally taken the big brother role upon himself. Because of this, Murphy knew that his twin had developed a stubborn habit of readily taking both responsibility and blame for things that were neither his fault, nor in his ability to control. It was something he had watched play out over and over throughout their lives and he could see that this was no different. After everything he had witnessed over the last month, from his brother's relentless nightmares, to the way Connor had been all but physically pushing them away, Murphy was finally beginning to realize just how much the events that took place back in Boston were eating his twin alive.

He knew all along that Connor had been carrying a very large mantle of guilt for not only what happened to Romeo, but for Rocco, Greenly, and their Da as well, and it broke Murphy's heart to think that his brother was walking around with the weight of those deaths on his shoulders. Those were not his burdens to bear and yet he took them without question. He understood, now, why Connor was so opposed to Edwards joining them. Connor was trying to shield himself from the already overwhelming guilt that would easily break him if he had to suffer the pain of another loss.

Murphy got it. He understood. But that didn't mean Connor's actions were justified. He wouldn't allow his twin, the most important person in his world, to sacrifice his own life simply because he was too thickheaded to accept the fact that not everything was his fault.

Connor pulled the car up alongside the curb outside their apartment building and killed the engine. He looked over at Murphy who hadn't spoken a word in the last ten minutes and sighed when he saw the troubled look on his twin's face. He could feel the tension stretching uncomfortably between them and he sat back heavily in his seat, rubbing his temples. "Look," he began quietly, "I know you can handle yourself, alright? It's not that I don't trust you, Murph, in a fight there's no one else I would rather have by me side, I just…" Connor trailed off lamely, not really knowing how to speak his fears out loud.

"I know," Murphy saved him from having to figure it out. "You forget that I know you better than you know yourself. I realize why you did what you did, but you can't keep on this way." There was a short silence before he added softly, "None of it was your fault, Connor."

Connor started to shake his head but Murphy didn't let him argue. "No, you fucking listen to me, now," he demanded, turning to fully face his brother. "You think you're the only one who feels guilty about the things that have happened, the people we've lost? There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think that maybe I could've done something to save them, but in the end, what's done is done. We can't change it and we have to move on. You have to fucking let it go."

Connor met his brother's intense gaze for a few moments before looking out the windshield and clinching the steering wheel in his hands. How could he just let it go? He knew that he couldn't change the past, but that didn't mean he couldn't learn from it. He wasn't going to make the same mistakes again. He refused to lose anyone else. Connor had been certain Murphy was going to die that night in the prison and he refused to be put in that situation again. He couldn't deal with it. How was he supposed to just let that go? Murphy didn't understand.

"Connor?"

Murphy's voice broke through his thoughts and he turned to see his twin looking at him expectantly, a hint of concern in his expression. Connor turned away. He didn't want Murphy to have to worry about him. "I hear ya, Murph," he murmured. "I'll do my best, aye?" Done with this conversation, he reached for the door handle and looked over at his twin. "Come on, let's get inside. I've a bottle a whiskey stashed away and I do believe I hear it calling our names." He flashed Murphy a devilish grin before pushing his door open and exiting the car.

Murphy sat for a few seconds longer, trying to catch up with Connor's abrupt mood change before opening his door to the harsh winter winds and following his brother into the building. He wasn't done talking about this but it was obvious that Connor was and he knew better than to continue pushing. He would let it go for now, but he would be damned if he let Connor pull another stunt like he did tonight.

Together, they walked up the three flights of stairs to their hole-in-the-wall apartment, stopping when they reached their door. Connor used his key to unlock the deadbolt before turning the handle and pushing his way inside. They found Edwards pacing restlessly across the length of the living room and when they walked in the young man rushed over to them, relief written across his face.

"Jesus, what took you guys so long? I was going out of my mind waiting for you. You said you would be back by eleven and that was an hour ago. I didn't know what to do. I was about to call Smecker and raise the alarm. Did everything go all right? You guys aren't hurt are you?"

Connor took a step backwards away from Edwards' frantic barrage of questions and turned to Murphy, quirking an eyebrow in question. When Murphy shrugged Connor looked back to the kid and took notice of the young mans fidgety movements and shaking hands and he narrowed his eyes at him. "What the fuck's wrong with you? Why are you so… twitchy?"

Edwards shook his head and ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Yeah, that, I ah… may have had a little too much coffee. I was bored out of my mind waiting for you guys and I was afraid I was going to fall asleep. I wanted to keep myself nice and alert, just incase something went wrong."

Connor and Murphy took another moment to observe the way the kid's entire body was practically vibrating with energy before turning to each other and busting out laughing. They turned to go into the kitchen, chuckling as they went, and Edwards followed behind them.

"So?" He questioned again when they started to walk away. "Did it go okay? Did you get the information we need?"

Connor unstrapped his holster and set it in a heap on his duffle bag, which was still spread out on the table, before moving over to the counter and reaching up to dig through a cabinet above the sink. "Aye, everything went fine. We got what we needed and we'll be meeting with Smecker to discuss it tomorrow. Tonight, however-" his voice became strained and he paused as he stood on his toes, stretching to reach something in the back of the cupboard. His efforts were rewarded when he felt the glass of the bottle hiding in the back and he wrapped his fingers around the neck. "Tonight, we're drinking," he said with a grin as he produced the bottle of Jameson with a cheer from Murphy.

After a moment of fumbling through random cabinets, Connor was able to come up with three, somewhat clean glasses while Murphy cleared off the table so they could all sit. Pouring a shot of the amber liquid into each glass, Connor began passing them out, stopping when he realized that Edwards was still lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. "C'mon, Kid, get in here and have a drink with us," he called, pushing the third glass in front of the empty chair.

Edwards spoke up hesitantly. "Uh, that's all right. You guys go ahead, I've never really been much of a drinker."

Connor shook his head. "You can use that excuse any other time, but not tonight. Tonight we're celebrating. Besides, the whiskey will help balance out your little caffeine overdose," he added, gesturing to the young man's fidgety hands.

"You really think it works like that?" Murphy questioned curiously.

Connor snorted. "Course it fuckin' does, whiskey makes everything better. Now, get your ass in here," he demanded again, motioning to Edwards with his hand.

Edwards relented with a sigh and moved forward, sinking slowly into the empty chair. He wrapped his hand around his glass, eyeing the fragrant liquid warily before mimicking the brothers' actions and lifting his cup in salute.

" _Sláinte!"_ Connor and Murphy both toasted, simultaneously throwing their shots back with ease.

" _Sláinte,"_ Edwards echoed softly, quickly draining his own glass. The whiskey burned all the way down to his stomach causing his eyes to water and he had to fight to keep a neutral face.

Connor grinned at the young man's efforts to appear unfazed and gave him a hearty slap on the back before pouring them all another round. The next several shots were handed out in rapid succession and it didn't take long for them all to become pleasantly buzzed. It went on like that for the next hour, the shots becoming spaced further and further apart as the brothers' back and forth bickering and drunken story telling became a humorous distraction.

For someone who 'wasn't much of a drinker' Edwards had managed to keep up with Connor and Murphy's furious pace but he could tell that he had passed the limit of his tolerance level several shots back, and when Connor brought the nearly empty bottle up to pour him another shot, he quickly covered the glass with his hand.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," he slurred. "I don't think you guys want to see what'll happen if I drink another one."

"Aw, c'mon, Joshy Boy!" Connor goaded around the cigarette burning between his lips. "One more shot 'n I'll tell you a story about the time I caught Murphy here making out with a sheep." A pack of smokes was launched across the table at his head and he ducked out of the way, laughing at the stormy look on his twin's face.

"I don't care how many shots he does, you'll not say another word on that, you hear me?" Murphy shot his brother a warning look. "Besides," he continued, lighting his own cigarette. "It wasn't even like that and you fucking know it."

"Well, this sounds like a story I need to hear," Edwards said, removing his hand so Connor could fill his glass. Throwing back his shot, he couldn't hold off the cringe this time and thought for a moment it might come right back up but he got himself under control, looking to Connor expectantly

"Like a champ!" Connor exclaimed with a smile. "Alright," he began, the smirk on his face suggesting he was very eager to tell this particular story. "So, after the Yakavetta trial we decided that Boston was getting a bit hot for us and we headed back home to lay low for awhile. After we arrived we decided to make our move a little more permanent and we ended up going to work on our family's sheep farm-"

"Connor, I fucking told you, we're not telling this story." Murphy's interruption went unheeded by his brother who simply continued on with his tale.

"One day, we were herding the sheep down to one of the outer pastures for grazing. We were planning on spending a few nights out there before bringing them back in-"

"Connor, I'm fucking warning you," Murphy threatened.

"Well, like any respectable Irishman, I brought along a bottle of whiskey and Murph and I were passing it back and forth that night around the campfire-"

"This is your last fucking chance, I'm not going to tell you again!"

Unfazed by the threat, Connor continued, laughing as he spoke. "We polished off the entire bottle in an hour and I passed out, leaving Murph to take first watch over the sheep. When I woke up-"

In the blink of an eye, Murphy flung himself out of his seat and slammed into Connor, bringing his twin down hard onto the kitchen floor, overturning his chair as they went.

"Motherfucker!" Connor grunted as he fought to get his brother off of him.

Edwards watched in wide-eyed shock as the two men grappled with each other on the ground, a mess of tangled, flailing limbs. Elbows, along with a few light, well-aimed punches were thrown and a mixture of pained groans and breathless curses escaped the writhing mass of drunken Irishmen on the floor. Unsure of what he should do, Edwards decided to try and break up the fight. Standing unsteadily from his seat, he stumbled over and grabbed the back of Connor's shirt, attempting to haul him off of Murphy

"Alright, alright, that's enough… oh, shit." The room was suddenly spinning around him and he could feel his stomach rejecting the copious amounts of alcohol he had forced into it. Panicking, he slapped his hand over his mouth and bolted from the kitchen toward the bathroom.

Connor and Murphy paused in their scuffle and watched the kid run out of the room before looking back at each other, dissolving into laughter. Their brawling forgotten, Murphy pushed his twin off of him and they both crawled back into their chairs. Connor retrieved the pack of smokes that had been thrown at his head and tapped out two, passing one off to Murphy as a peace offering. They both lit their cigarettes and Connor took a pull straight from the bottle before sliding it over to his brother. "We should go check on the kid," he mused, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Murphy chuckled. "Aye, give him a few minutes first, let him get passed the worst of it. You know, you're kind of an ass for pushing him to drink so much."

Connor gave a half smile. "Aye, maybe so, but it was about time we broke him in proper, don't you think?"

"Good a time as any, I suppose."

They both grew quiet and Murphy picked distractedly at the label on the whiskey bottle in front of him. Even the alcohol clouding his mind couldn't keep his memories of the evening at bay and thoughts of the troubling conversation he had had with Connor came back to him, unbidden. Looking up, he caught his twin's eye and could see the same hint of seriousness where a joking sparkle had been only moments before and he knew that their thoughts had both gone to the same place. Not wanting to revisit that topic just yet, Murphy brought the bottle to his lips and drained the last shot before standing from his chair and giving Connor's shoulder a squeeze as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen.

"Come on, let's make sure Edwards makes it to his bed before we pass out."

Connor grunted in agreement and dropped his cigarette butt into the empty whiskey bottle before following his brother toward the back of the apartment. They found Edwards passed out next to the toilet and it took both of them to lift the young man off the floor and drag him to his bed. Murphy, in a moment of sympathy, decided to be kind and place a full glass of water and two aspirin on the small end table next to the kid's bed. After removing his shoes, he threw a thick blanket over him and turned out the light before heading down the hall to his and Connor's room. He chuckled as he stepped through the door and found his twin already sprawled across his mattress, passed out. Repeating the same routine he had just completed with Edwards, Murphy removed his brother's shoes and covered him with a blanket, smiling as he thought on the many times him and Connor had taken care of each other after a night of drinking.

It had become a ritual of sorts, starting at the age of fifteen after they decided to sneak one of their Ma's bottles and see which one of them could take the most shots before puking. Connor had gotten violently ill and Murphy, despite being almost as bad off, had taken care of his twin all through the night, lest someone find out what they had done. That had merely been the first of many occasions one of them had had to take care the other after a night of heavy drinking and it was a routine that had been repeated many times since then.

Pulling the blanket up higher around Connors shoulders to stave off the chill, Murphy gave his twin a fond pat on the head before collapsing onto his own bed. "G' night, Connor," he whispered quietly before allowing the whiskey induced darkness to pull him under.

 _Chapter revised 11/7/17_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 _This is not good_. Graham Dowell thought to himself as he stepped onto the elevator of a condominium duplex in the upper east side of Manhattan. _No, scratch that, this is a fucking disaster._ Five years. Five goddamn years he had been working to develop this flawless system of black market distribution and their operation had only just begun to function like the well oiled machine he had built it up to be. This incident was going to set them back months and the assholes responsible were going to pay dearly for their disruption of his business.

Deion may have been a disrespectful, irritating punk, but he was a master of his craft and he always got the job done. Finding someone capable of demanding the same level of loyalty and respect to replace him was going to be damn near impossible. What in the hell were they going to do with that new shipment coming in? Seventy percent of their business was done right here in the city and the Red Spades saw to most of that. Now that Deion, along with his handful of lieutenants, were dead, the Red Spade Demons were completely leaderless and would end up scattered, divided and utterly useless to them.

The boss was going to be furious. Mr. Dawson had hired _him_ to oversee this part of his business, and in consequence, that made this his problem, his fault. He was not looking forward to facing Kennedy Dawson's wrath. Despite his compassionate and charitable public image, when it came to his business affairs, the man had a fearsome reputation as a ruthless and cutthroat businessman. Graham wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty and was known for doing whatever it took to complete his objective, earning himself a vicious reputation of his own, but that didn't mean he was above fear and he couldn't stop the fluttering of nerves in his stomach as he pressed the button in the private elevator that would take him up to his boss's penthouse.

The elevator slowly climbed to the top of the building and he watched as the light above the door jumped from floor to floor, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. He knew that Mr. Dawson didn't like to be bothered with the illegal side of the business. It was risky for a man of his status to associate too closely with his criminal operations and he typically kept himself separated from these things, trusting Graham to be able to take care of business on his own. This, however, was huge. This was something that required the boss's attention and regardless of the man's displeasure, he needed to consult with Mr. Dawson before deciding what this attack meant and how best to move forward from here.

The elevator came to a slow stop, the doors opening with a ding, and Graham found himself faced with the lavish foyer of Mr. Dawson's penthouse suite. Taking a breath, he crossed the threshold and walked confidently across the smooth marble floor. He stepped out into the immaculate and spacious living room only to find it empty and glanced around a moment before turning to head toward the back of the suite.

"Mr. Dowell."

The voice came from behind him and Graham turned to see Candice, Mr. Dawson's personal assistant, crossing the living room in his direction. She was a beautiful young woman, early thirties maybe, and she wore a cheery smile that looked a little too practiced. Candice had been around, dutifully tending to Kennedy Dawson's every need, for the last several years and he knew that the woman's duties went far beyond just fetching coffee and juggling the boss's busy schedule. He wasn't sure how deep their relationship went or how much she knew about the dark side of his business but it was obvious to him that Mr. Dawson used her for more than her secretarial skills.

"Mr. Dawson has been waiting for you," Candice said, her tone not quite matching her friendly smile. "He's on the balcony, you can go on out."

Graham didn't respond, just nodded and moved toward the door leading out to the massive rooftop balcony. When he opened the door he was met with an icy blast of winter wind and he shivered for a moment before the warmth escaping from the outdoor heaters surrounding the patio reached him, chasing away the chill. Squinting in the late afternoon sunlight, Graham spotted Dawson sitting at a long glass table, cigar in one hand and a glass of scotch sitting in front of him. Burying his hands in his coat pockets, he started off in his direction. "Mr. Dawson," he said after clearing his throat, announcing his presence.

Kennedy Dawson turned in his chair to look at the man who had joined him on his balcony before setting his smoldering cigar down and waving him over impatiently. "I've been waiting for you. Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, his voice calm but his words tinged with an underlying rage. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all day, I was starting to think you were avoiding me. You weren't avoiding me, were you, Graham?"

"Of course not, Mr. Dawson-" he tried to continue and vindicate his actions but was cut off.

"Then explain to me why I had to learn about this mess from that bitch on the goddamn news instead of the man I _hired_ to take care of this business!" he yelled loudly. Graham flinched visibly and Dawson closed his eyes, taking a moment to regain his composure before continuing in a steady voice. "I know that I've given you a lot of responsibility and free rein to do what needs to be done to get this project off the ground, and I'll admit, I'm impressed with your progress, but you still work for me and it would be in your best interest if you didn't forget that."

Graham bowed his head in respectful repentance. "I apologize, Mr. Dawson, you're right, I should have contacted you sooner. I know you don't like to be bothered with these things and I wanted to gather as much information as possible so I could have something to report. I didn't want to come here empty handed and unprepared."

Dawson eyed his employee skeptically before nodding and motioning to the seat across from him. Picking his cigar back up, he took a quick puff before gesturing in Graham's direction. "Alright, I'm assuming since you're standing here in front of me that you have some answers and can explain to me how our main distributor went from preparing for our biggest shipment yet, to laying on a concrete slab down at the morgue."

Graham pulled out the chair that was offered to him and took a seat, meeting his boss's piercing gaze without hesitation. He had learned a long time ago that Kennedy Dawson respected a man with confidence and wouldn't hesitate to attack any hint of weakness or self-doubt. Folding his hands on the table in front of him, Graham leaned forward assertively and began relaying everything he had learned since the attack on the Red Spades the night before.

"Lucky for us, one of the NYPD officers on your payroll happened to be on patrol last night. He told me that as soon as he learned what apartment the call was for, he responded and made sure that he was the first on scene. He contacted me to let me know what happened before he called it in."

"The news reports were pretty vague. What exactly was it that he found when he arrived on scene?"

"Ten dead total. Deion was having a meeting, preparing his crew for the large quantity coming in at the end of the week. Somehow, their attackers knew about their little get together and managed to take out all of the higher ranked members in one swoop. The Red Spades are now leaderless." Graham finished quietly, waiting for the eruption of the anger that seemed to be floating just under Dawson's cool exterior.

Exhaling another cloud of smoke, Dawson clinched his jaw as he stubbed out his cigar with more force than was necessary. It was worse than he'd thought. His fury bubbled close to the surface but he managed to fight it back down, keeping his calm. He would save his wrath for when they found the fuckers responsible. Whoever did this clearly didn't know who the fuck they were dealing with. Every gang in New York knew better than to mess with his business. The Red Spade Demons were off limits and those who interfered paid a terrible and agonizing price.

"Who did this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Graham sighed and leaned back into his chair. "That's where this gets a little interesting. One of the things our cop mentioned when he called to tell me about the scene at the apartment was that Deion, along with the rest of the dead, all had pennies in their eyes, arms crossed over their chest." He paused, waiting to see if that would ring a bell.

"Pennies?" Dawson spoke quietly to himself. "Pennies… why does that sound so familiar…?" he trailed off, his mind working overtime.

"Perhaps you've seen it on the news," Graham offered helpfully. When Dawson gave him a confused look he continued. "How much have you heard about the vigilante wannabes known as the Saints?" he asked, watching as realization dawned across the other man's face.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Dawson said, rubbing his hands across his face tiredly. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" he repeated, raising his voice and slamming both fists down hard on the table with a bang.

Graham fought the urge to jump at the sound of his boss's anger, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

Running his fingers through his slicked back hair, Dawson took a breath to compose himself. "Can we be absolutely certain it's them? Anyone can place pennies on a corpse. Maybe it was a copycat or something?"

Graham shook his head. "It's them. Our NYPD connection contacted me a few hours ago to confirm it."

Dawson fisted the tumbler of scotch in front of him and raised it to his lips, drinking deeply from the crystal glass before setting it back on the table. He kept his fingers wrapped around the cup, gripping it so tightly it was a miracle that it didn't shatter in the iron vice of his hand. "Why here?" he mused quietly to himself through a clinched jaw. "Of all places, what drew them here? We run a discreet operation, how did they know to target Deion?"

"They escaped from a maximum security prison. It's pretty obvious that they have help. Someone is working with them, someone with a source of inside information. And, honestly, this may have started with Deion, but I don't think this is going to end there. They're not done yet."

Dawson narrowed his eyes at his employee. "What do you mean?"

Graham cleared his throat. "Well, according to our source, the Federal Agent in charge of the investigation reported that Deion showed signs of torture, which is not the typical MO of the Saints." He could see Dawson's wheels turning and he paused, letting the man come to his own conclusions.

"Do you think Deion squealed about this new shipment coming in?" he asked after a moment.

Graham nodded. "I don't think they would have killed him so easily if he hadn't."

Dawson leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, deep in thought. "This may not be a bad thing for us," he said after a moment.

Graham looked like he wanted to interject but Dawson held up his hand, halting him. "I want these motherfuckers, Graham." There was a lethal glint in his eyes as he leaned forward, laying a serious look on the man across the table from him. "They've crossed a line by coming here, coming to _my_ city and messing with _my_ business." He pounded his pointer finger firmly onto the table, emphasizing the things that he considered his. "If Deion blabbed about the shipment then we can probably expect these crazy fucks to try and crash the party tomorrow. I want you prepared for them. Take double the men, hire more if you have to, but these assholes don't get away with this a second time. Do you understand me?"

Graham nodded obediently and stood from his chair, already plotting his course of action.

"Keep them alive if you can manage it," Dawson continued. "I want you to bring them to me. They're going to regret ever stepping foot in this city," he finished darkly.

Graham nodded again and opened his mouth hesitantly, not sure if he should ask his next question. "Sir…" he began before faltering.

Dawson eyed him impatiently. "Spit it out."

At his boss's prodding, he launched forward. "What are we going to do with the product we have coming in? It's a large shipment and our biggest distributor is now out of commission."

Dawson chuckled once in disbelief. "What? You expect me to do your job for you?" he asked mockingly before his expression fell serious again. "I am paying _you_ to handle things like this, Graham. If you can't do that then I will find someone more capable to take your place."

The threat was clear and Graham shook his head firmly. "That's not necessary. Consider it taken care of."

Dawson smiled in satisfaction, his dangerous demeanor quickly morphing into the radiant and warmhearted man that the public saw him as. "Glad to hear it! You've done some great work in past and I would hate to lose you now," he said cheerfully, although the implied threat was still present.

The sudden personality transformation caused chills to skitter up Graham's spine and he had to resist a full body shudder. It was beyond creepy when he did that.

"Now," Dawson continued, grin still in place, "if there's nothing else, you're excused, Mr. Dowell. I expect regular updates on your progress."

Graham nodded once before turning on his heel, eager to be on his way.

Kennedy Dawson watched his employee until the man disappeared through the balcony doors. Once he was out of sight, he allowed the smile to fall from his face as he rolled his eyes. Reaching for a wooden box on the table in front of him, he lifted the lid and removed another cigar. Holding the tightly wrapped leaves under his nose, he inhaled deeply, savoring the rich tobacco before placing it between his lips and chewing thoughtfully on the end. He sat like that for several moments, thinking through everything Graham had told him, silently fuming over the situation. This had the potential to be way worse than just few dead gangsters. He couldn't help but wonder how much these vigilante fucks knew about him. He kept himself pretty separated from things, but with the right resources, it wouldn't be difficult to uncover his role in the illicit side of his organization. He knew that the Feds had already attempted to open up an investigation once but they could never pin anything on him. He had to stop this before it went any further. He'd worked too hard to get to where he was just to lose everything to two self-righteous pricks on some crackpot mission. So distracted was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice the feminine presence walking silently across the balcony until a slender arm slid slowly around his shoulders.

"You look distraught. Is it that bad?"

Dawson removed the cigar from his mouth and leaned back, looking up into Candice's bright green eyes. "It's bad," he said, setting down his cigar and scooting back so he could pull her willowy frame onto his lap. "I need you to dig up everything you can on these men who call themselves the Saints. I mean everything. I want to know their entire life story, family history, where they came from…who they love. I need it all."

Candice nodded as she ran her hands soothingly through his hair. "I'm on it." Planting a soft kiss to his forehead, she pushed off of his shoulders and stood to her feet, making her way back inside.

/ / /

Murphy opened his eyes with a groan, the pounding in his head amplified by the bright sunshine streaming through the small bedroom window. Glancing over, he saw that Connor's bed was empty and groaned again when the clock on the table next to him showed that it was well passed noon.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly, pulling the blanket back over his head to block out the offensive light. He wanted nothing more than to just lay here and sleep off the rest of his hangover but he knew that wasn't an option. He needed to get up. They had just over twenty-four hours to prepare for their next hit and there was a lot of work that needed to be done before then.

With a sigh, followed by a string of profanities, he threw back his covers, shivering against the cold. Pushing himself out of bed, Murphy stumbled over to a pile of somewhat clean laundry in the corner of the room and selected a thick long sleeve shirt before ambling out into the hall. Pulling the shirt over his head, he made a quick stop at the bathroom before heading toward the living room. He could hear Connor's voice before he reached the end of the hall and as he rounded the corner he paused, surprised by the scene that greeted him.

Connor and Smecker were both seated on the couch, huddled together in front of a laptop perched on Connor's knees, quietly discussing whatever it was they were looking at. The worn coffee table that graced the center of the living space was covered in what appeared to be a blueprint of some kind and Murphy took a step closer to get a better look.

"What the fuck's all this?" he asked as he entered the room, his voice still rough with sleep.

Connor and Smecker both looked up and Smecker scooted down to the far end of the couch as Connor motioned for his brother to sit. "We're working, my dear brother. Not all of us can afford to lie in bed until after noon." Connor flashed his twin a wry smile. "Evil doesn't sleep, Murph."

"You should've woke me up," he chided as he took a seat on the couch, accepting the pack of smokes that Connor tossed into his lap.

"Na," Connor shrugged, "Trust me, you need your beauty rest. 'Sides, it's not that big of a deal. I was up early anyway, figured I'd go ahead and get to work."

Murphy watched his twin closely, wondering if it was the nightmares that had him up again. If it was, Connor didn't let on, keeping his eyes glued to the computer screen in front of him as he continued speaking.

"I got up and put in a call to Smecker, told him about the shipment coming in on Friday. I gave him the address and being the resourceful bastard that he is, he managed to dig up blueprints on the warehouse. Also, seeing as how last night we publicly announced our presence here in the city, we're no longer allowed to leave the apartment unless we're on a job. Which means that Smecker had to do a quick drive by for us and snap a few pictures of the outside of the building as well as the surrounding streets." Connor swiveled the laptop in his brother's direction, giving him a view of the images that filled the screen.

Murphy nodded in appreciation. "Very nice," he said as he lit his cigarette and leaned forward, scanning through the photos. "Any ideas on what mode of transportation they'll be using?"

Smecker shrugged. "The warehouse is close to the water but not really close enough to make a delivery by boat convenient, although I wouldn't rule it out completely. We have no idea what kind of product or how much is being shipped so if it's being delivered by land it could come in anything from an SUV to a full semi tractor-trailer. We have no way of knowing so you'll have to be prepared for all options."

"It doesn't really matter what it comes in, now does it?" Connor spoke up. "So long as we're there to stop it."

"Aye," Murphy agreed. "And we will be," he assured. Passing the computer back to his brother, he leaned forward and looked over the blueprint on the table. "You worked out any plans on how you want to do this yet?"

Connor picked up the laptop and moved it to the end of the coffee table. "Aye," he sighed. "We've discussed a few things, but I think we should get Edwards up before we go over them. He'd be pretty pissed if we left him completely out of this. Besides, the kid has a knack for working up a good strategy. His plans aren't as good as mine, mind you," he added with a smirk, "but we could still use his help."

Murphy snorted. "At least his plans never leave me dangling from the end of a fucking rope. In fact," he continued despite the glare from his brother, "he's never mentioned rope to me at all. That automatically makes his plans better than yours."

Connor gave his twin a light shove. "Ah, fuck you. My rope saved both of our ass's on more than one occasion and you fucking know it."

"Aye, only because your original plan nearly got us killed."

Smecker laughed quietly from his place on the end of the couch as he recalled his first experience with Connor's so called 'plans'. It was at that very first crime scene eight years ago, back when he was still intent on bringing the Saints to justice. It had looked like something straight out of a lame action movie and the fact that they both made it through alive still amazed him.

Connor heard Smecker laugh and shot him a glare before giving Murphy another shove, rougher this time. "Go fuck yourself, Murph. At least I take the time to actually come up with a plan instead of just jumping in with both feet and praying for the best like a hardheaded, impulsive brother o' mine." Murphy scoffed at that but Connor didn't give him a chance to argue. "Now, go wake the kid up, I'll put some coffee on, he's probably going to need it."

Dropping his cigarette into the ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch, Murphy pushed himself up out of his seat, mumbling under his breath as he left the room. He went a short way down the hall before stopping at the door to Edwards' room and pushed it open, not bothering to knock. He chuckled to himself when he saw that the young man was still in the same position he had left him in the night before. Reaching a hand out he gave the kid's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Edwards, time to get up." No response. "Hey," he spoke louder, shaking him harder. "Wake up."

Edwards rolled over onto his back this time, letting out a miserable groan as he did so. "Sonofabitch," he slurred, his hands automatically moving to his head. Cracking his eyes open, he glanced up to see Murphy standing over him and rolled back over onto his side, groaning again.

"Come on," Murphy encouraged. "Time to get up."

Edwards mumbled something unintelligible before rolling back over onto his back. "I'm going to kill Connor. 'Come an' have a drink with us' he said."

Murphy laughed at the terrible impression of Connor's accent.

"Uhhh," Edwards groaned again. "That is the last time, you hear me. Never again."

Murphy smiled sympathetically at the young man's misery and picked up the aspirin and glass of water he had set on the bedside table the night before. "Here," he offered, motioning for the kid to sit up. "Take these and meet us out in the living room. Smecker's here and we're trying to work out the details for tomorrow night."

Murphy watched as Edwards accepted the pills gratefully and quickly swallowed them, downing the entire glass of water in the process. "Come on out when your ready, Connor's getting some coffee for you. Unless you'd rather have a beer to help take the edge off. Hair of the dog and all that." He laughed at the pale and slightly nauseous look that took over the young man's face before turning and heading back out to the living room, giving the punching bag a cursory hit as he went.

Connor was returning from the kitchen at the same time Murphy was making his way back to the couch and he offered his brother one of the two steaming cups in his hand. Murphy gave his twin a wordless nod in thanks and returned to his seat just as Edwards came stumbling out of the hallway wearing the same clothes he had passed out in the night before. Connor offered the young man the second cup with an amused smirk. "How you feeling there, Joshy Boy?" he asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Edwards didn't say anything, just shook his head as he accepted the cup of coffee and moved to the chair on the other side of the room.

Connor chuckled at the response, or lack thereof, and returned to his spot next to Murphy on the couch. "Alright," he began, his joking manner quickly vanishing as he got down to business. "According to Smecker, the building next to Dawson's warehouse is vacant."

Smecker nodded picking up with the explanation from there. "I checked on the real estate in that area after I did some scouting this morning. The building is unoccupied and has been for quite some time. Unlike most of the other buildings in that area, it has multiple stories and would give you a higher vantage point." He picked up the laptop from the coffee table and passed it over to Connor and Murphy so they could get an idea of what the area looked like. "It would be a good place for you boys to set up and scout things out beforehand."

Murphy dipped his head in agreement as he scrolled through the pictures on the computer. "If we waited on the roof we could see in all directions. We would be able to have a clear view of anyone coming or going," he spoke quietly to his brother.

"Aye," Connor nodded. "We'll wait to make our move until everyone is inside the warehouse. Wait until after the shipment arrives and come in while they're distracted unloading it."

"I'm coming," Edwards spoke up suddenly from where he was bent over, intensely studying the blueprint on the table.

"No," Connor said, not even bothering to look up from the computer screen.

"Yes, look," he pointed to something on the building schematic. "See, this building has three exits. You're going to want to attack them from as many different angles as possible, right? It'll make it harder for them to fight back. Three exits, three people. I'm coming," he stated again.

"I said no. Murph and I can handle it just fine on our own." Connor's voice was cool and he kept his eyes stubbornly trained onto the laptop, refusing the acknowledge Edwards' logic.

Murphy glanced up at Edwards, taking note of the kid's heated expression before looking sidelong at his brother who, despite trying to appear calm, was busy clenching and unclenching his jaw. Neither one looked like they were ready to back down and Murphy caught Smecker's eye over Connor's head, silently telling the man to prepare for some fireworks.

"Well, now you'll be able to handle it even better because I'll be there to help," Edwards said firmly.

"We're not having this discussion again, kid, let it go," Connor warned, finally glancing up to meet the young man's eyes from across the coffee table.

Edwards shook his head, ready to do anything but let it go. "Not this time. I've been patient and I've respected your decision, Connor, but I wont sit on the sidelines anymore. I'm going." Lowering his voice, he softened his expression. "I know what you're afraid of, alright. I know that you've lost people, but in the end, this is my life to risk, just as it was theirs. This is my decision."

Connor shot to his feet unexpectedly, throwing the laptop onto the table in anger. "Like fucking hell it is! You're not the one who has to live with the guilt after you get yourself killed. You're staying right the fuck here!"

Murphy looked up at his twin in surprise. Very rarely did Connor lose his temper like this. Sure, his brother got mad, but it was always a slow burn, unlike Murphy who could go from happy to angry and back to happy again in the span of a few minutes. The only time Connor ever got like this was when he was overtired or overstressed. Murphy knew for a fact that his brother was both at the moment.

Edwards gained his feet as well, clearly not willing to back down this time. "So, you're going to risk your own life, as well as Murphy's, all because you're too stubborn, too _afraid_ to let me help? This job would be safer with a third person and you know it."

Connor felt an explosion of rage at the suggestion that he would ever willingly endanger the life of his twin and he jumped forward, preparing to circle around the table to get to the young man. What he was going to do once he got to him, he wasn't sure. He would've liked to think that he wouldn't actually hit the kid, despite being mad enough to. Fortunately for all of them they didn't have to find out because Murphy leapt to his feet, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and hauling him backward.

"Connor!" he yelled loudly, breaking through his twin's rage. "Calm the fuck down!" Murphy pushed his palms into his chest, shoving him back so he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Just calm down. Take a deep breath, now."

Connor ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply, and Murphy chanced a glance over his shoulder to see that Edwards was still standing in the same spot, his jaw set determinedly. He was clearly not going to allow Connor to intimidate him. Murphy supposed that was a skill the kid had acquired during his time spent as a prison guard. The boy had balls of steel he'd give him that. Murphy's gaze moved to Smecker who was sitting calmly on the couch, legs crossed, simply watching the scene unfold with curiosity.

Connor leaned his back up against the doorframe and Murphy turned toward his brother, removing his hands now that it was clear that he had his anger under control.

"He's not coming with us, Murph." Connor spoke quietly, his words for his brother's ears alone. "He can't come with us. You're with me on this, right?"

"Connor…" Murphy trailed off, troubled by the haunted look in the blue eyes that were so like his own. They made him feel guilty for what he was about to say. "He's got a point. Having a third person wouldn't be a bad idea." The look of betrayal that took over Connor's face struck Murphy at his core, but he had to say something. This fear and guilt that had been plaguing his twin for the last month and a half was starting to affect their work and Murphy felt that he couldn't ignore it any longer.

"You're fucking kidding me, right?" Connor pushed off of the wooden doorframe, getting in Murphy's face. "How can you fucking say that? Have you learned nothing?" His voice slowly rose until he was yelling again and he grabbed the front of Murphy's shirt, shaking him roughly. "He's going to end up dead just like the rest of them! Is that what you want?"

Murphy's own temper soared out of control and he twisted a fist in the collar of Connor's shirt, pushing him until he slammed into the wall behind them. "He's not them, Connor! He's not Rocco, he's not Greenly, or Romeo, he's still alive and he wants to fucking help!" Connor tried to push off of the wall but Murphy held him tight. "It's his life to risk and it's his fucking choice. We owe him more than just our lives, and if this is what he wants to do, then I won't stop him."

Connor tried to push off again and this time Murphy let him, releasing his grip and taking a few steps backward. He regarded his brother warily, preparing himself should his twin decide he wanted to fight this out with his fists. It didn't happen often, but it wasn't uncommon for one of their arguments to come to blows. It was a way for them to relieve tension and if a fight was what Connor needed to help him work through this, then Murphy would gladly oblige. He clinched his jaw, expecting his brother to take a swing but the hit never came.

Connor's chest was heaving as he paced back and forth a few times, running his hands through his hair before stepping back up in front of Murphy, pointing a finger in his face. "Fine," he said, his voice rough with emotion and his eyes full of hurt. "But don't look to me when you're crying over his dead body. This one is on you." With that he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Murphy to stare after him in pained silence.

Running a hand over the back of his neck, Murphy took a deep breath and turned to face the other two occupants of the room. Edwards was still standing, looking slightly guilty, and Smecker was leaning forward on the couch, watching him through narrowed eyes. Murphy was having a hard time reading the former agent's expression. Duking his head, he cleared his throat, motioning to the kitchen. "I'm gonna go talk to him, I'll be back," he said quietly, turning to leave.

"Murphy," Edwards called, stepping forward when Murphy turned to face him again. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to provoke him. I just… I can't stay behind anymore, especially when I know that me going could mean the difference between life and death for the two of you. I'm sorry it went down like that, but this is something I need to do."

The kid looked genuinely distressed and Murphy offered him a small smile. "I know. This has been a long time coming with him. He's been under a lot of stress. Don't worry, I'll go talk to him. We'll get this sorted out."

Edwards nodded and Murphy turned, heading into the kitchen. Connor was nowhere to be seen but the open window on the far wall told him where he could find his brother. Sticking his head out of the opening, he shivered at the blast of icy air that hit his face, but the cold was quickly shoved to the back of his mind as he spotted his twin sitting on the fire escape platform with his back up against the brick of the building.

With a sigh, Murphy climbed through the window, taking a seat next to his brother. Connor didn't look up and neither man spoke as they sat, trembling in the cold. After a few moments, Murphy reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his pack of smokes. Tapping out two, he cupped his hand against the wind and lit both simultaneously, passing one off to his twin.

Connor hesitated for a second before accepting the token of peace. It was several more minutes before he finally spoke. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette, watching as the wind carried it away.

Murphy nodded as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "I know. Me too." He glanced over but Connor still wouldn't look at him. "I'm sorry that I had to go against you like that, but the kid's right. This is a three-man job. We need him."

Connor looked down, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips and inhaling. "I know," he said dejectedly, the statement more of a soft exhale than actual spoken words. It was quiet for several moments before he spoke again. "I don't…" he paused, fidgeting with a tear in the knee of his jeans. "I can't lose another one, Murph. I have enough ghosts, I don't think I can handle any more."

Murphy felt his heart break at the words and he moved his arm so it was resting on top of his brother's shoulders. "You have to lighten the load, Connor. You can't carry the weight of the dead around with you or it'll break you. You have to _let go_. We've talked about this."

Connor didn't respond so Murphy continued. "We're going to take care of the kid, not that he needs it. You know as well as I do that Edwards can handle himself just fine. We've both seen him in action. I don't think we have anything to worry about."

Connor nodded, finally raising his gaze to meet his twin's. Murphy could see the pure exhaustion in his brother's bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes and his breath caught in his throat at the sight. "Jesus, Connor, when's the last time you had a good sleep?" Connor shrugged and Murphy shook his head, flicking his cigarette butt over the edge of the fire escape before gaining his feet. "C'mon," he said, offering his hand down. "You need to rest. You know how fucking narky you get when you're tired."

Connor took his brother's hand but shook his head as he rose to his feet. "We have too much work to do. No time for that."

"Between Smecker, Edwards, and myself, I think we've got it under control." Connor started to protest again but Murphy cut him off. "Just go get some fucking rest, alright? We need you fully functional."

Connor eyed his twin but didn't fight this time. Nodding his head, they both crawled back through the window.

As they walked back into the living room, Edwards jumped up from where he was sitting on the couch next to Smecker, and stepped over to stand in front of Connor. He wanted to apologize and smooth things over but he wasn't really sure what to say. He still believed he was right in his decision but he felt bad for pushing so hard, he respected the brothers and he didn't want any hard feelings between them.

Sensing the young man's hesitance, Connor gave him a simple pat on the back, signaling a truce, before heading toward his bedroom at the end of the hall.

Murphy watched his twin shuffle down the hallway before collapsing back on the couch with an exhausted sigh. He ran a hand over his face and looked over at Smecker who was watching him intently.

"What?" he questioned, unsure what that look meant.

"Is he okay?" Smecker asked, nodding his head toward the doorway that Connor had just disappeared through.

Murphy sighed again, leaning his head against the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "Aye, he'll be alright. He's just stressed. I don't think he's been sleeping too much lately."

"How long has he been like this?"

Murphy shrugged. "Since Hoag, I guess. Since Romeo died."

Smecker sat back into the couch, regarding Murphy with an open stare. "Is he okay to work?"

Murphy's head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes. "Of course he's okay to fucking work. He's just a bit stressed is all. He's been through a lot, we both have, but we're here and we're gonna get the job done."

Smecker held his hands up for peace. "I was only asking, I didn't mean anything by it. I know that you've both been through a lot, that's why I needed to know if he was okay. It's my job to see to it that you boys have everything you need to continue your work, and that includes ensuring that you are equipped both mentally and physically for the job. Connor's having some problems, I get that, it's understandable. I just want you to know that if there's anything I can do to help, you have but to ask."

Murphy nodded, looking down at his hands. "Thanks, Smecker," he said sincerely. "We're doing fine though. Connor just needs some rest. He has a tendency to fly off the handle a bit when he's tired. Been like that since we were kids."

Smecker gave a small smile and leaned forward over the coffee table once more, studying the blueprint. "Alright then, lets get back to work, shall we?"

Murphy inclined his head in Edwards' direction and smirked. "Okay, Joshy Boy, lets hear what you got."

 _Chapter revised 11/9/17_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"I hope you've been a good boy this year, Weston, cause Santa Clause has a surprise for you."

Charlie Weston looked up from where he was busy filling out paperwork for his requests to place checkpoints randomly throughout the Brooklyn area in hopes that they would get lucky and catch the Saints, or at the very least, make it harder for them to leave the city. He cocked an eyebrow at Garcia as the man walked into their temporary office at the FBI building in Brooklyn. "If this isn't work related then I don't think I want to know where the rest of this conversation is headed." he responded with a hint of a smile.

Garcia chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he offered up his middle finger. "Jackass," he mumbled quietly before taking a seat on the edge of the desk. "You know those unis you sent door to door in the blocks surrounding Deion Marcus' home? Weston nodded. "Well, one of them actually had some luck."

Weston sat up straighter suddenly alert. "What do we got?" he asked hopefully

"The officer I spoke to says he's been working that beat for the last ten years and most people in the area trust him enough to come to him willingly if there's a problem. He said that, as he was walking the block, he was approached by a woman who claimed to have something that she needed to show him. Turns out, the lady had taken her dog out for a piss last night around the estimated time of Mr. Marcus' murder when two men matching the MacManus brother's description came hurrying down the opposite side of the street. She said she wouldn't have thought anything of it had she not heard them talking to each other and picked up on their accents."

"Irish?" Weston guessed despite already knowing the answer.

Garcia nodded, his smile growing. "Yup, Irish accents aren't something you typically hear in this neighborhood. The lady said she had been watching the news and heard about the Saints and how they still haven't been found. She said that when they passed underneath a street light she could tell that their faces matched the pictures she saw on T.V."

"Did she say which way they were headed or if they went into a building? Did she get anything at all?" Weston felt his excitement growing but forced himself to remain calm.

"She said she watched them get into a car that was parked down the block a ways. She said she was close enough to read the plates but she didn't have anything to write the numbers down on and being an older women, her memory 'isn't what it used to be'." Garcia hid his smile, knowing the reaction his partner would have to that.

"Damn it! Are you kidding me? She didn't get the damn plate numbers!? Did she at least get a make and model?"

Garcia allowed his grin to spread across his face at his friend's reaction and held up his hands to calm him. "She didn't have anything to write the numbers down on so she snapped a couple pictures with her phone," he finished, smiling even wider at the glare his partner laid on him.

"You're an ass, you know that?" Weston growled, running a hand through his hair in annoyance. "You could've just led with that."

Garcia laughed. "You know how much I love to fuck with you. You're too uptight. I've made it my personal mission to get you to chill the fuck out."

"Says the man with a temper that would rival the Hulk. I'll chill out once we have these boys in custody. Do we have the pictures? Could you get a read on the vehicle's plates?"

"Whatever," Garcia scoffed as he pulled two pictures out of the file that was in his hand. "There will always be another fugitive to chase and the job will never be done so I guess you're just destined to be an uptight prick for the rest of your life," he teased gruffly, placing the photos on the desk in front of his friend.

Weston ignored his partner as he leaned back in his chair, taking in the grainy details of the crappy cell phone pictures. One photo showed what he could just barely make out as Connor MacManus standing next to a light blue Buick. The driver side door was open and it appeared as if the man was looking around for witnesses before climbing in. The second photo was of the car's bumper with the license plate illuminated by the red taillights as they drove away. He was having a hard time making out the plate numbers and Garcia seemed to notice because he slipped a piece of paper containing a series of numbers over the photo.

"I already sent this to the tech guys. They were able to clean it up enough to read the numbers, and the man in the first photo has been positively identified as Connor MacManus."

"Nice work, Garcia," Weston praised. He had taken Garcia under his wing several years ago and had been working with him, acting as the young man's mentor ever since. Weston was proud of how well he was progressing in his career. "It's about time something went our way," he said with a sigh, referring to their complete lack of luck in trying to figure out the Saints' next hit.

He hadn't slept since arriving in New York the night before and he was still no closer to figuring out the mystery behind the Saints' uncharacteristic torture of Deion Marcus. It was driving him crazy. He felt like he was missing something that was hiding right under his nose. Although, with this new information maybe it wouldn't matter, maybe they could catch the MacManus boys before they had a chance to kill again.

"Have you run the plates yet?"

Garcia shook his head. "Not yet, thought I would give you the honor. I know how much you love the chase."

Weston smirked in excitement as he flipped open his laptop on the desk and quickly typed in his pass code, gaining access to the DMV database. Glancing at the piece of paper in his hand, he quickly punched in the plate numbers and waited for the results to load, bouncing a foot in anticipation. As the page came up he quickly took in the information, surprised by what he found. "Huh…" he murmured to himself.

"What?" Garcia stepped around the desk to look at the screen.

"These plates actually match the car. It's a blue, 1998, Buick Century. I expected the plates to be stolen from another vehicle."

"Are there any stolen vehicle reports out on it?"

Weston shook his head after doing a quick search. "Nope."

"Well who's it registered under?"

Weston squinted as he read the name off the screen. "The car is owned by a Paul Harris." He looked over his shoulder at his partner. "I want you to run that name through the system, see if you can get anything on that."

Garcia nodded. "On it, Boss. You going to send this info to the media? If we get these plate numbers out there maybe we'll get lucky and a civilian will spot the car."

"No," Weston shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "This is the first big break we've had and I don't want to risk losing it. Right now, the Saints have no idea that they've been spotted. They probably still think everything is fine and dandy and I don't want that to change. I want to catch them off guard. I guarantee if they see their car on the news they wont hesitate to dump it and we'll be right back at square one. Put an APB on the vehicle with the instructions that if the car is spotted, they are not to engage. Nobody makes a move on these men until back up arrives. I want to be the first person notified if they're found, understand?"

"You got it," Garcia said before striding quickly out of the office to fulfill his orders.

Once his partner was gone, Weston picked up the picture of Connor MacManus and held it up with a smirk. "You boys made a big mistake."

/ / /

Graham let out a growl of frustration when the display of his phone lit up, revealing the ID of the caller. Dawson had been breathing down his neck for the last twenty-four hours and he wanted nothing more than to yell at the domineering man to back off and let him do his fucking job, but that would have been a serious mistake. Nobody talked to Kennedy Dawson like that. So, instead, he politely kept his mouth shut, answered 'yes sir', 'no sir' and dutifully updated him on his progress.

Looking down at his phone once more, he flipped it open and brought it up to his ear before returning his eyes to the road where he was carefully navigating his black SUV through the busy streets of Brooklyn. "Yes, Mr. Dawson?" Graham answered, his voice calm and collected.

" _Is everything ready?"_

"Yes, Sir. I'm on my way there now. The truck will be arriving soon, they had to stop and pick up the rest of the crew once they got in the city."

" _Tell me your plan one more time."_

Graham repressed a sigh, making a great effort to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Deion's death scared away a good number of the gang, but all of the Red Spade members that I found and managed to recruit will be meeting me at the warehouse in twenty minutes. The Shipment along with the new security detail will be arriving on the semi by eleven pm. We'll split the product and the men will deliver it to their respective territories."

" _And if there's trouble?"_

"I hired the extra security. The truck will be picking up an additional ten men to ride in the trailer and guard the product. If anyone is planning on attacking the warehouse they will be in for a surprise."

" _Remember, if these assholes show up, try to take them alive. I want them brought to me, understand?"_

"I understand that, Sir, but I can't promise anything. When bullets start flying there are no guarantees, but I will do my best."

" _You better do fucking more than that, Graham! Failure is not an option."_

There was a click on the other end and Graham knew that his boss had hung up on him. Tossing his phone into the empty passenger seat, he ran a hand angrily through his short, graying hair. He would be glad when this mess was taken care of. He couldn't wait to get his hands on the fuckers responsible for causing him this headache.

/ / /

The sound of a high pitched whistle caught Connor's attention and he glanced across the flat rooftop of the three story building to see his brother signal to him before pointing to something in the street down below. Nodding, he motioned to Edwards who was standing about twenty feet down from him before jogging over to his twin's position.

"Three of them just pulled up," Murphy spoke quietly once his brother reached his side, followed by Edwards.

Connor glanced down at the watch on his wrist. It was five till eleven, right on time.

"Got a couple more coming up over here," Edwards spoke from the other side of Murphy as he peered over the waist high wall surrounding the entire perimeter of the rooftop.

Connor grabbed the binoculars hanging around his neck and held them up to his eyes, sizing up the men who were stepping out of their vehicles below. He counted eight so far, gathered in a group outside of the warehouse. As of yet, none of them had made a move to go inside, they all just stood, talking by the large bay door at the front of the building. The way they were looking expectantly around them it appeared as if they were waiting on someone. Connor didn't have to guess too long on that before a black SUV pulled up and a man with thin black hair peppered with flecks of grey stepped out of the vehicle, walking over to the cluster of men gathered at the front entrance. This man carried himself with an air of authority and must have held a pretty high position because he was soon producing a set of keys from his pocket and using them to unlock the bay door to the warehouse.

Connor resisted the urge to duck below the wall of the roof as the man began looking around at the quiet streets suspiciously, almost as if he sensed their presence. His gaze moved upwards to the rooftop they were currently posted on and through the binoculars Connor could see the man's eyes narrow in his direction before he turned on his heel and walked inside, leaving the door wide open behind him.

Connor looked over at his brother with a frown. He could have sworn that the guy had looked right at him even though he knew that the pitch black of the moonless night combined with their black coats and stocking hats would have made them impossible to see in the dark. It was almost like he was expecting them to be there. Murphy wore the same frown on his face and Connor felt his nerves kick into overdrive as warning bells began going off in his brain. Something didn't feel right.

"Do you think he saw us?" Murphy asked, his breath coming out as a cloud on the frigid night air.

Connor shook his head. "I don't think so, Murph, but I don't like this feeling I got."

Murphy nodded, he felt it as well, but this was their only chance at this. They couldn't afford to call it off. "It's only nine guys," he said, trying to remain optimistic. "We've handled more than that before. Between the three of us we'll be fine." He gave his twin a confident pat on the back.

Connor wasn't convinced but he didn't have time to contemplate it any longer as a large tractor-trailer came rumbling down the street. The semi slowed down in front of the warehouse and made a sharp turn, pulling right in through the open bay door. The loud whooshing sound of the truck's air breaks being released could be heard just before someone came around and pulled the door closed behind the trailer.

"That's our cue," Murphy whispered, nudging his brother with his elbow and giving Edwards a nod at the same time.

Connor hesitated, the sinking feeling in his gut growing stronger as he watched Edwards and Murphy step away. They begin shoving their binoculars into the black duffle at their feet before double-checking their weapons one last time in preparation. He tried to convince himself that this warning in his heart was simply a product of the fear that had been plaguing him ever since they returned to their mission. He tried to tell himself that having Edwards along was only amping up that fear, causing him to become overly sensitive, but deep down he knew it was more than that. He briefly considered telling Murphy that they should call this off and figure out a different plan of attack. But Connor knew that his brother would be doing this with or without him and he'd be damned if he let his twin go in there alone.

Clinching his jaw, Connor forced his feelings aside and came forward, shoving his own binoculars into the bag and zipping it closed. He ran his hands comfortingly over his weapons, which were nestled safely in their holsters under his coat, and turned to Murphy. "Let's fucking do this," he said, not waiting for a response before taking off, leading the way to the stairwell that would take them down to the street.

They all three exited the building on the ground level and Connor held out his arm, stopping Murphy and Edwards before they got to the street. He took a moment, looking around cautiously from where he kept them hidden in the shadows before turning his head to look at his brother over his shoulder. "Remember the plan. We have to go in at the same time. You got your watches set?" Both men took a moment to double check the watches strapped to their wrists before nodding in confirmation. "Good, go ahead and start your timers in three, two, one…" they all three pressed the start button, effectively synchronizing their countdown. "We got four minutes to get into position, let's get going."

Edwards and Murphy both moved forward, Connor's hand shot out, stopping them once more. "Be safe," he said, his eyes lingering on his brother before moving to Edwards. "Watch your backs."

Murphy gripped his twin's shoulder, giving him a quick nod before pulling away. Taking off at a jog, he disappeared around the corner of the building, Edwards following closely behind.

Connor took a deep, steadying breath before moving off, circling around the warehouse in the other direction. Aside from the large bay door around front there were three other exits. A man-door was located on each of the other three sides of the warehouse, making it easy for them to infiltrate, surround and eliminate. They had arrived several hours before the shipment was due and took a few moments to scout out the building, ensuring that their route of attack was clear. That meant breaking through the locks on the doors in preparation.

Connor reached his assigned position on the east side of the building and glanced down at his watch before leaning up against the metal door, resting his hands on his knees. _Two minutes._ Pushing off of the door, he pulled his black stocking hat from his head, running a gloved hand through his sweaty hair. He paced a few anxious lines before returning the hat to his head and removing his twin Berettas from their holsters underneath his pea coat. He bounced on his toes in anticipation and when the timer on his watch began beeping, he lifted his gaze skyward, muttering a quick prayer toward the heavens before forcefully yanking the door open and rushing inside.

 _Chapter revised 11/9/17_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Weston jumped from his seat, flipped his cell phone closed, and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair all in one hurried motion. Once he hit the hallway he broke into a run, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his jacket as he sprinted down the hall toward the break room where he knew he would find Garcia. Ignoring the strange looks being thrown his way as he all-out sprinted through halls of the FBI building, he didn't slow until he reached the lounge. Throwing open the door, he paid no mind to the loud bang as it ricocheted off the wall behind it as he quickly spotted his partner sitting at a long wooden table, nursing a steaming cup of coffee.

"Garcia, get your ass up, break time's over! We got a hit on the vehicle. A patrol car over in Red Hook spotted it and they've had reports of gunfire in the area. This is it, let's go!" Weston made a 'hurry up' motion with his hands, encouraging the shocked younger man to get his ass in gear.

"Shit," Garcia coughed as he nearly choked on a sip of the piping hot beverage. Abandoning the Styrofoam cup, he vaulted from his seat and chased after Weston who was already running back through the building toward their car.

In the parking garage, they were greeted by a team of Federal agents led by Special Agent Kuntsler, assembled and ready to follow them over to the neighborhood of warehouses that the call came from.

"What's the plan here, Boss?" Garcia asked as he slid into the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt across his chest.

Weston flipped the switch on the driver's side, lighting up the sirens atop his SUV before peeling out of the garage, taking his position at the front of the caravan

"The officer who made the call has been instructed to stand by until back-up arrives. We've got units from the 76th precinct en route with orders to create a perimeter around a ten-block radius from where the shots were reported. The cop who called it in said that the gunfire sounded like it was coming from a warehouse located three blocks west of where he found the car. I want half of Kuntsler's guys with us surrounding the warehouse and the other half to join the police and help secure the perimeter, make sure nothing slips through." He glanced sidelong at his partner, tightening his grip on the wheel. "This ends tonight."

/ / /

The onset of chaos was immediate. As soon as Connor stepped through the door, he instantly spotted the group of men gathered around the closed end of the tractor-trailer and opened fire without hesitation. Three men dropped and the rest scattered as shots rang from two other directions. Murphy and Edwards were right on time.

As the group of gangsters scrambled to get out of the line of fire, Connor spotted the dark haired man he had seen from the rooftop and watched as the he quickly flipped the lock on the back of the trailer, pounding twice on the door before running for cover behind the large truck. Adjusting his aim, Connor targeted the fleeing man, squeezing off two rapid rounds from his Beretta. The bullets missed their mark, causing sparks to fly as they ricocheted off the metal siding of the trailer and he swore under his breath in frustration. Seconds later the trailer door rolled up with a bang and he faltered, his gun lowering slightly in shock at the sight of the small army equipped with fully-automatic weapons that came flooding out of the back of the trailer.

A cold feeling of dread spread through his entire body and he took a few subconscious steps backwards, his eyes automatically scanning the building for any sign of his brother or Edwards. Connor wasn't one to back down from a fight but he wasn't a fool. He knew that they were out matched in both firepower and sheer numbers. This was a battle they wouldn't win.

There was a brief moment of silence in which the air around them felt electrified with tension before the warehouse exploded in a wave of gunpowder and bullets. The outer edge of the building's floor space was littered with random boxes and packing crates and Connor dove behind the one closest to him on his left.

"Fuck!" he swore as a spray of bullets caused the wooden crate to splinter and crack behind him.

"Damn it! I said don't fucking kill them! I need them alive!"

Connor heard a voice shouting over the pandemonium and his sense of unease deepened. Jesus, this was a fucking trap! How the fuck did they know? The sound of gunfire died off and he eyed the door he entered through. It would only take him a second to double back and duck out safely into the night, but that wasn't part of the plan. He couldn't leave until he was certain Murphy and Edwards were with him.

 _Fuck!_ Why the fuck couldn't things ever just work out the way they fucking planned? Connor lashed out, kicking the heavy crate behind him in a mixture of desperation and fury. He had known something wasn't right about this. He should have trusted his instincts. He should've forced Murphy to listen to him instead of simply brushing it off. Letting out a shaky breath, he let his head fall against the rough wood at his back. Think. He had to fucking think. If he could get to Murphy's side, they could find Edwards and maybe fight their way out, but that was a big maybe. Those were some big fucking guns.

Connor's mile a minute thought process was interrupted by the popping sound of what he easily recognized as rounds from Murphy's suppressed Beretta, echoing off the metal walls. His heart clinched as his brother's shots were answered by angry shouting and blasts from several assault rifles. Chancing a look, he peeked around the corner of the crate and noticed that there was one more body sprawled on the ground than there had been previously and he grinned inwardly, silently praising his twin's aggressive marksmanship.

Taking advantage of the distraction that Murphy had provided him, Connor moved cautiously out from behind his cover, slowly working his way around the outer edge of the warehouse toward the direction his brother's shots had come from. Sticking to the shadows, he was able to pass around undetected until he was finally able to spot his twin from across the building. Murphy was hunkered down behind a crate similar to the one Connor had used for cover and was alternating between firing his weapon into the mass of armed men and ducking down at the rain of lead that responded to his attacks.

Connor felt a burst of momentary panic at the sight his twin backed into such a dangerous corner but he shoved it down, refusing to let his fear take control. He began searching for a way to make it to his brother's side without getting ventilated in the process when he noticed half of the gang's soldiers breaking off, beginning to circle around in an attempt to surround Murphy's position. Reacting automatically, Connor raised his own weapon, using a cardboard box in front of him to steady his aim before squeezing the trigger, dropping one, then two. Rifles turned in his direction and bullets cut through the air around him, forcing him to duck down and press himself as close to the concrete floor as possible. Between him and Murphy, they were slowly decreasing their numbers but it wouldn't be long before the orders to take them alive fell by the wayside in favor of self-preservation.

Crawling on his knees, Connor slowly worked his way forward, attempting to peek around a stack of boxes only to have his head nearly taken off by a hail of bullets. _Shit._ He was pinned down. Staying low, he crept back the way he came, trying to find a better angle to attack.

He couldn't help but notice that Murphy's Beretta was no longer a part of the background noise and he was unable to deny the worry bubbling up in his chest. They could really use that extra gun right about now, where the fuck was Edwards? Connor realized he hadn't seen or heard anything from the young man since this whole clusterfuck began and his thoughts ran rampant with possibility. As if on cue, the distinct sound of Edwards' Desert Eagle blasted overtop the rest of the gunfire and Connor felt relief knowing that at the very least their young friend was still alive. However, whatever solace that knowledge provided was quickly stripped away when another unmistakable sound reached his ears.

Sirens. _Damn, that was fast._ They were still in the distance but definitely getting , could this possibly get anymore fucked!? Connor decided not to curse the situation by pondering such questions. The answer was an unequivocal yes. Things could always get worse.

"Unload the fucking truck, now! Get the shit in your cars and go!"

Connor stopped his backwards crawl at the sound of the voice barking out orders and risked a glance around the edge of the crate he was hunkered behind. He saw the dark haired man shouting and gesturing angrily towards the trailer, trusting his hired soldiers to cover them while they got busy unloading their precious shipment. Men exited the back of the trailer carrying dozens of over-stuffed duffle bags and the bay door was rolled open once more.

"Connor!"

Murphy yelled out for him and even though Connor couldn't see him, he knew exactly what his brother was trying to say. Their targets were getting away. Both Murphy and Edwards were occupied, exchanging fire with seven automatic assault rifles, so Connor turned his guns onto the men trying to make their escape. He caught one man in the back, dropping him and the load he was carrying to the ground before moving on to target another. He only managed to get off one more shot before he was forced to, yet again, duck and cover after a bullet flew uncomfortably close to his head. When he came back up, he saw that the fleeing gangsters were gone except for the dark haired man who stood at the open door, covering their escape. Connor met the man's eyes for the briefest of seconds before he ran out, disappearing into the night. The sound of car doors being slammed and tires peeling out on the asphalt could be heard as the gangsters took what they could from the truck and made their escape before the fast approaching sirens got any closer.

For the second time, Connor found himself lashing out, landing his foot solidly into the side of a crate in frustration. There was nothing he could do about it now; they were swiftly running out of time. Sirens could now be heard closing in on them from more than one direction and he quickly sought out Murphy and Edwards. They were both still pinned down in the same location and had to be dangerously close to running out of ammo at this point.

Using his adrenaline-spiked anger as fuel for his fire, Connor renewed his attack on the seven remaining thugs who seemed to be slowly trying to make their own retreat towards the open bay door. One dropped to the ground, then another, and Connor watched in alarm as Murphy, emboldened by the decreasing numbers and his obvious reluctance to let anyone else get away from them, came out from behind his cover, firing relentlessly from both of his weapons. Connor swore through gritted teeth as he provided his brother's bold move with as much cover as he could but it wasn't enough.

He watched as if the scene were playing out in slow motion. He could almost see the bullet as it streaked through the air before embedding itself in his twin's body with a spray of blood. All of the fears and anxieties that he had harbored inside of himself over the last month and a half came crashing to the front as he watched Murphy collapse onto the ground and he heard nothing but the roar of blood rushing in his own ears. He didn't hear himself as he yelled out his brother's name and he couldn't hear the gunfire from his matching Berettas as he fired round after round, not stopping until the remaining soldiers disappeared out the door.

The last man hadn't even passed from sight before Connor was hurdling the stack of boxes in front of him and racing to where Murphy lay curled in on himself on the cold, dusty floor. Connor's long strides ate up the distance and in a matter of seconds he was sliding to a stop, ending up on his knees at his brother's side. Tucking one of his guns back in the holster underneath his coat, he lay the other one on the ground within easy reach before grabbing his twin by the shoulders and pulling on him gently, trying to get him to open up and roll onto his back.

"Where were you hit?" Murphy didn't respond as he fought his brother's attempts to move him, and Connor's concern magnified tenfold. "C'mon, Murphy, you gotta let me take a look. Help me out here, brother." He kept his voice calm despite the panic that had seized the rest of his mind and was finally able to coax his twin flat onto his back.

Edwards reached their position shortly after Connor and was staring down at them, eyes wide and full of concern. "Is he alright?"

Connor didn't bother looking up, keeping his focus to his brother. Murphy's face was screwed up in an expression of pain and there was an alarming amount of blood leaking out onto the floor beneath them. Connor feared the worst when he saw the bleeding wound on the side of his twin's neck but Murphy shook his head, seeming to come down from the initial rush of pain. "It's my fucking leg," he managed to grit out between his teeth.

Connor noticed the way he was gripping his upper thigh tightly with both hands and gently pried his fingers away from the wound. "Let me see," he commanded gently

Murphy shook his head again, pushing Connor's hands away from him as he attempted to sit up. "We can't do this now, we have to go. They'll be here any minute."

"You have to let me have a look." Connor knew his brother was right but his worry was overruling rational thought. He was reaching for Murphy's leg again when he felt Edwards' hand fall onto his shoulder.

"He's right, Connor. We have about thirty seconds before this place is crawling with cops. If we don't leave now, it's game over."

Connor hesitated for a moment, his worry for his brother warring with the looming threat of the incoming sirens. Making a snap decision, he nodded up at the young man next to him. "Alright, help me get him up."

Ready for action, Edwards jumped forward to Murphy's other side and together they pulled him to his feet.

A groan escaped Murphy's lips as the change in elevation caused his wounds to throb and the bleeding to increase. Once they had him standing, Connor looked over at Edwards, a questioning look in his eye. "Ya got him?"

Edwards nodded and Connor set about collecting both his and Murphy's weapons still lying scattered on the ground. Tucking his other Beretta into his empty holster, he stuffed both of his brother's weapons into the back of his pants before returning to his twin's side, throwing his arm over his shoulder to help support his weight. Giving a quick nod at Edwards, he moved them forward toward the back door that Murphy had come through.

Leading them out into the street behind the warehouse, Connor felt a fresh dose of adrenaline pump into his veins when he saw the red and blue flashing lights reflecting off of the buildings around them. He watched the first vehicle, a black SUV, pull up on the West side of the warehouse and quickly tugged them into the shadows of the closest alley. He was struck by a vivid sense of déjà vu as he thought about the last time him and Edwards were forced to haul an injured Murphy between them. That night had ended tragically for Connor, being separated from his brother so forcefully. The knowledge that, should they get caught here tonight, they would be headed toward the same devastating outcome was not lost on him. He set his jaw in determination. He wasn't going to allow that to happen.

They stopped at the end of the alley and Connor glanced cautiously up and down the intersecting street before moving them out into the open. He could hear the pained grunts that escaped his twin with every step and he looked down, noticing the small puddles of blood they were leaving behind with each stride. They had to find a place to stop soon. Directing Edwards to cross the street, he moved them down the sidewalk a ways before a set of headlights had him shoving them blindly into the next alleyway, which happened to be a dead end.

Cursing, he led them past a dumpster and pressed Murphy against the brick wall on the other side, hiding them from view. Peeking around the corner, he watched as a police cruiser crawled slowly by and quickly ducked his head behind their cover until it passed.

"I don't think they saw us, but they're combing the streets looking for us," Connor whispered.

"Not us specifically, though, right?" Edwards matched the hushed tone. "I mean, you didn't even leave any pennies, there's no way they could know who exactly they're looking for."

Connor shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not, either way, we need to get the fuck out of Red Hook." He turned back to Murphy and even with the absence of moonlight, he was able to see the fine sheen of sweat that had formed on his brother's pale face. "How you holding up there, Murph?" he asked, kneeling down to try and get a look at the bullet hole in his twin's thigh.

"Fucking peachy," Murphy ground out. He felt as if his leg was on fire and the act of fleeing had done nothing to help his already aggravated injuries. He was growing weak and dizzy from blood loss and his anger at the situation was increasing by the minute, putting him in a rather foul mood. The fact that he had gotten shot wasn't the only thing upsetting him. While he definitely could have done without it, he could handle the occasional injury or bullet wound, it sort of came with the territory. No, he was angry at the complete and utter fuck-up that this entire damn night had become. The bad guys were still alive and whatever was in those giant duffels was on its way to the streets of New York City. Their failure was unacceptable.

Connor easily picked up on his twin's aggravation, but the nagging sense of urgency in the front of his mind kept him focused on the task at hand. He couldn't see much in the dark but he could feel the stickiness of the blood that had completely soaked through his brother's jeans. Finding the entry wound, he felt around on the opposite side to see if the bullet had gone straight through but it was impossible to tell in the dark. It would have to wait until they got somewhere safe, preferably back to the apartment. Taking his right hand, he pressed his palm hard over the bleeding hole, ignoring Murphy's sounds of pain as he tried to staunch the bleeding.

"He's losing too much blood," Connor spoke quietly, glancing up at Edwards who quickly knelt down to take a look.

Taking a moment to examine the portion of the wound he could see, Edwards tilted his head, whispering quietly to Connor. "It's impossible to know how much damage the bullet caused but I don't think it hit his femoral artery. He most likely would have bled out by now if it had. We need to get this bleeding stopped, though. If he continues to lose blood at this rate he could go in to hypovolemic shock."

Connor nodded in understanding before glancing up at Murphy who had his head resting back against the brick wall behind him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You got your blade on you, Murph?"

"Aye, left boot." He could feel Connor pull the large serrated knife from his ankle and looked down suddenly, the request finally sinking in. "Why?" he questioned warily, his voice taking on a slightly higher pitch. "What the fuck are you gonna do?"

Gripping the handle, Connor took the bladed edge to the hem of the dark sweater underneath his coat, cutting away a long strip of the thick cloth before glancing at Edwards who was nodding in approval.

"We can use a tourniquet to stop the bleeding long enough for us to get back to the car and get the hell out of here. Once we're back at the apartment we can take a better look." Edwards explained as Connor began wrapping the length of fabric around his brother's thigh about two inches above the gushing hole.

Murphy bit back a curse, groaning loudly and letting his head fall back against the wall behind him as Connor pulled the cloth as tight as he could before tying it off in a simple square knot.

"It's still bleeding pretty good," Connor murmured, his voice holding an obvious hint of concern.

"Alright," Edwards mumbled distractedly as he began searching through a pile of trash next to the dumpster. "We need to find something to use as a torsion device. Something to tighten the tourniquet with …ah, here." Tossing a few bags of trash aside, he uncovered a wooden pallet and began forcefully stomping it with his foot until one of the boards broke loose and splintered off. Grabbing the shard of wood, he nudged Connor out of the way and placed it parallel to Murphy's leg on top of the knot that had already been tied in the fabric. Quickly, he tied two more knots over the makeshift torsion device, securing it to the tourniquet before he began twisting it, tightening the cloth and cutting off the flow of blood.

Murphy groaned again and Connor could feel this brother's finger tips through his coat, grasping tightly to his shoulder.

"It's stopping," Edwards announced softly as he finished tying off the chunk of wood to hold it in place until they made it to safety.

Sighing, Connor ran a hand through his hair. "Good," he breathed. "That's good." Straightening back up, he gave his brother a pat on the cheek. "Now, what the fuck happened to your neck?"

Murphy shrugged dismissively. "Just a graze, it's nothing."

Connor nodded, he doubted it was nothing but there wasn't anything he could do at the moment. "Alright, we're only about a block and a half from the car. Are you going to be able to make it that far? I suppose I can make a run for the car and swing by and pick you both up."

Murphy shook his head. "Fuck that, if they're patrolling the streets you don't need to be driving all over the fucking neighborhood. I'm good, let's just get the hell out of here."

Connor gave his twin a hard look before nodding in agreement. "Alright then." Pulling Murphy's arm back over his shoulders, he waited for Edwards to take up the other side before leading them out of the alley.

The streets were quiet and Connor was surprised, as well as slightly disturbed, that there wasn't more civilian traffic out despite the late hour. This was New York City, after all. So why in the hell were the streets so deserted? The feeling in his gut told him that he wouldn't like the answer but his only option at the moment was to keep moving forward.

It took them the better part of ten minutes to hobble their way down the block and a half to where they left the Buick, their journey only made harder by the random police cars they had been forced to dodge along the way. They were just rounding the corner onto the street their car was parked when they were met with a sight that froze them in their tracks.

Connor reacted first, pulling them quickly back behind the corner. "Fuck," he whispered harshly, running an agitated hand over his face before peeking back around the corner. Their car was completely blocked in by three squad cars and the inside was being thoroughly searched by two of the officers. "Fuck!" He cursed again, his mind already racing ahead to what exactly this meant for them and what their next move should be.

After a moment of thought, he motioned back the way they had come and led them quickly down the sidewalk. He didn't stop until he reached a building with a deep alcove leading to the front entrance of the establishment, which, judging by the darkened windows, was currently closed. Pushing them into the darkened recess, he pressed them back as far is he could, hiding in the shadows.

"I guess they're looking for us after all," Edwards said darkly.

"How the fuck did they know about the car?" Murphy panted as he rested against the glass door behind him.

Connor ignored both of them as he dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cheap burner phone. He scrolled through the short contact list until he found the number marked S and pressed send. Lifting the phone to his ear, he paced impatiently as he waited.

" _It's about time, how did it go?"_ Smecker's curt voice came over the line after what felt like an eternity of ringing.

"We've got an issue," Connor said, equally as short. "We're going to need a ride out of here."

" _What happened?"_

"Don't have time to explain much right now, but the party got broken up prematurely. I'm not sure how, but the cops found the car."

" _Damn it,"_ Connor could hear some rustling in the background. _"Where are you now?"_

Walking to the edge of their hiding spot, he glanced down at the closest street sign. "We're near the intersection of Bush and Hicks."

" _Alright…"_ More shuffling. _"About five blocks North West of where you're at, there's a park, Coffey Park. It has some wooded areas and it might be easier for you to slip through the net if you can get there. I'm leaving now. I can be there in twenty minutes. Meet me at the park's North entrance."_

"Alright, it might take us a bit longer to get there, though. Murph took a hit, so we're moving kind of slow as it is, plus the patrols we've had to dodge along the way."

" _Is he okay?"_

Connor cast a glance in Murphy's direction, noting his brother's still pale countenance. "Not sure how bad it is yet, but we got it under control for now."

" _Alright, you better get going before they have a chance to lockdown the area. I can guarantee they've already started setting up a perimeter."_

"We're on our way, see you soon."

" _Connor?"_

"Aye?"

" _Be careful. I've told you what will happen if you get caught. It'll be out of my hands."_

Connor looked back over at Edwards and Murphy who were both watching him closely. "I'm not going to let that happen," he said, not waiting for a response before flipping the phone shut, ending the call.

Murphy arched an eyebrow at his brother. "What'd he say?"

"We have to go, now," was Connor's only response as he returned to Murphy's side, leading them back out onto the empty sidewalk.

"What'd he fucking say?" Murphy questioned again, his voice strained now that they were on the move again.

"He's on his way, but we have quite a walk ahead of us. He said that they're going to be working on setting up a perimeter so we have to move quickly and carefully."

Edwards and Murphy both nodded, not wasting their breath on a response. They picked up the pace as much as Murphy was able and made it three blocks before Connor turned them down an alley, his acute sense of direction telling him it would be a decent shortcut. They reached the end of the narrow side street and were preparing to step out from the shadows into the open once more when the sounds of tires squealing on the pavement cut through the silence of the night. Seconds later a police cruiser was jumping the curb and screeching to a stop, blocking the end of the alley only inches away from where the three men now stood in shock. Connor's blood ran cold and his heart sank as he squinted into the squad car's bright headlights. The driver's side door flew open and a police officer's head popped out of the opening, gun drawn and resting over the top of his car as he used his door as a shield.

"Stay where you are and put your hands in the air!"

 _Chapter revised 11/10/17_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I said put your hands in the air! Now!"

Connor glanced sideways at his brother as the cop holding them at gunpoint reiterated his orders, adding more force to his tone. Very slowly, he released the grip he had on Murphy's arm and raised his hands above his head. Both his twin and Edwards looked over at him with wide eyes.

"Josh," Connor spoke calmly, keeping his eyes focused on the officer in front of them. "I want you to take Murph and I want you to go. There's only one of him and it doesn't look like he's called for backup yet. As long as I stay here he'll have to deal with me. He won't be able to follow you right away and you can get a good enough head start-"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm not fucking leaving," Murphy interjected forcefully.

Ignoring his twin, Connor turned his head to look directly at Edwards as he spoke, keeping his voice low for their ears alone. "There's a park two blocks North of here. Smecker will be waiting for you at the North entrance-"

"Stop talking and put your goddamn hands where I can see them!" the cop yelled again, clearly getting frustrated.

Murphy looked his brother straight in the eye as he released his hold on Edwards and raised his hands up, wobbling slightly as he was forced to put weight on his injured leg. His surrender was an act of defiance, a blatant protest of what his twin was trying to do. There was no way in hell he was running.

Connor narrowed his eyes but kept his gaze focused on Edwards. "Go." He was almost pleading at this point.

Edwards glanced uncertainly between the two brothers, clearly unsure of what he should do. Deep down he knew this was part of the risk he took when he made the decision to help the Saints. Murphy was obviously refusing to back down and Edwards knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he took the easy way out and left them to their fate. Making eye contact with Connor he shook his head 'no'.

Connor felt the desperation flood through him as his deep-seated need to protect took over. "I said get the fuck out of here! Now!"

The police officer tensed at Connor's outburst and looked as if he wanted to move toward them, but he stayed where he was, gun trained expertly on the three fugitives.

Unfazed by Connor's commands, Edwards raised his hands above his head, responding with a simple "No."

Connor glared at the young man for a moment before dropping his gaze to the ground in defeat. Releasing a sigh he shook his head before setting his jaw and staring stubbornly into the headlights of the police car. He was unable to deny the anger and panic he felt for both his brother and his friend.

Now that all three men stood with their hands in surrender, the officer seemed suddenly hesitant to continue. He adjusted his grip nervously on his gun and swallowed hard. "Alright, just… just keep your hands where I can see them, alright? Nobody move."

Connor watched curiously, waiting for him to order them onto the ground so he could finish the arrest and be hailed a hero for capturing the infamous Saints, but the orders never came. The cop reached for the radio strapped to his uniform as if he was preparing to call it in, but again, he hesitated, opening and closing his mouth several times with no sound.

Murphy looked questioningly at his brother but Connor simply shook his head in confusion. Several moments of silence passed before the officer finally let out a sigh and dropped his hand from his radio, signaling the end of whatever battle was waging inside of him.

"There's a secure perimeter set up around this entire area," he began slowly, his posture relaxing as he lowered his gun. "If you cross the street here and continue heading north, you should be in the clear."

Connor, Murphy, and Edwards all glanced back and forth between each other, not exactly sure what was happening. Slowly, they lowered their hands but made no attempt to move.

"Why?" Connor asked, breaking the stunned silence.

"Because, I believe in what you do," The officer explained as he holstered his side arm. "Please, don't make me regret it." He gave them one more look before climbing back into his car and driving away.

/ / /

Smecker drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he scanned the darkness beyond his windshield. Thirty minutes had passed since he'd talked to Connor and he would be lying if he said that their absence didn't have him worried. Even with Murphy injured they should have been here by now.

 _This is just frickin' fantastic._ He smacked the wheel hard, frustrated with his own helplessness. Shaking his head, he tried to clear away the negative thoughts.

It couldn't end like this. They had only just barely begun their work. There was still so much to do, it couldn't be over already. He hadn't been joking when he told Connor that it would be out of his hands if they were to get caught again. There were no second chances here. No amount of resources or planning would be able bust the MacManus brother's out of the hole they were destined for if they were ever recaptured. It would be destination: supermax, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Fucking fucked.

Regardless of how the rest of the night played out, Smecker knew he couldn't regret the choices that led him here. It had been eight years since the MacManus boys had opened his eyes to the dark reality of the bureaucracy to which he slaved, and there was no coming back from his revelation. It changed him forever.

As an FBI agent, he had been well aware of the flaws in the system that allowed cocksuckers such as Papa Joe to slip through time and time again. He wasn't so ignorant that he couldn't see it. However, it wasn't until the coming of the Saints that he realized something could actually be done to rectify the situation. Sure, he wasn't above the occasional murderous fantasy involving himself, a gun, and the countless criminals that he had poured hours of his life into gathering evidence for a conviction only to have them walk away scot-free. But they were never been more than that, a fantasy. That is, until Connor and Murphy came storming into his life.

When the Saints first began flooding the streets of Boston with the blood of the wicked, he did what he was trained to do, what his twelve years of service in the FBI told him to do, hunt down the killers. He had known something was off about that case from the beginning, but he shoved it aside and did his job, a job that he was damn good at. He did not accept failure where his work was concerned and he had become completely absorbed with bringing Boston's mystery killers to justice. At the time, it didn't matter to him that the only victims were lowlife scum that deserved every bit of what they got. It wasn't until after he discovered the identity of the executioners that he took pause and really thought through what this could mean.

He had always been an excellent judge of character and Connor and Murphy had managed to make a pretty remarkable first impression on him back at the South Boston PD. They were outgoing, intelligent and loyal to a fault. They were good people and within the span of a few hours, their playful Irish charm had won over every cop in the station. It had been hard, at first, to try and place these two men, who had so quickly earned his respect, as the killers he had been so focused on hunting. Once that information sank in, it only raised more questions for him. Then, somewhere between a boisterous gay bar and a confessional booth, he came to terms with what he knew he had to do.

He crossed a line. He had made his choice and there was no going back. Even after the brothers retreated to Ireland with their father, Smecker found that he couldn't return to the way things were. His job no longer felt meaningful. What good was he doing? Half of the pricks that he dedicated time and resources into ended up walking and he was tired of it. There was a better way.

He began making plans, putting out feelers on his colleagues, trying to judge who might be idealistic or jaded enough to abandon the system in favor of a more pure form of justice. He was going to need friends on the inside if this was going to work.

Phillip Tucker, Pete Cooper and Eunice Bloom. Those were his allies in this newfound mission. Tucker was the older of the bunch. He had been a trusted friend of Smecker's for a number of years. Cooper was a rookie under Tucker's wing, and Bloom was a rising star in the agency that had a reputation of butting heads with authority.

He spent the next several years grooming Bloom to take over his position in the Bureau, informing her of his involvement with the Saints and ensuring himself that the spitfire of a woman would have what it took to do what was necessary. She didn't disappoint. Although, due to her complete lack of respect for her own cover, she was now enjoying an indefinite vacation with a bunch of nuns at some monastery, thanks to Father Sibeal's resources. With Cooper and Tucker's help, they were able to free the Saints from their prison sentence and after eight years of planning they were finally getting back to work. It was time to change the world.

Now here he sat, waiting to see if it was all going to end as quickly as it started.

Small droplets of water began appearing across the windshield as the heavens opened up into a freezing rain. The beads of moisture increased in numbers until they began trickling down the glass, turning to ice before they could reach the bottom.

"Fucking perfect," Smecker muttered, shaking his head at Mother Nature's cruel sense of humor. _Well, when it rains it fucking pours,_ he thought ironically. Setting the heat controls to defrost, he flicked on the windshield wipers to clear away the water that was now coming down in sheets.

Reaching for his phone resting in the cup holder of the center console, he pressed the button on the side, illuminating the screen. _No calls, no messages._ He toyed with the idea of contacting Tucker or Cooper to see if they had heard anything through the Bureau but decided against it. They would call if they knew anything. Tossing his phone aside, he looked back up, squinting to try and see through the pouring rain. The wipers swiped a wave of water off the windshield and his heart jumped as he caught sight of a dark shadow on the other side of the small field he was parked in front of. Leaning forward in his seat, he held his breath as he tried to get a better look. For a moment he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him in the dark, but the shadow was growing closer and by the time it was halfway across the clearing, he was able to make out three distinct shapes, one of which was being heavily supported between the other two.

"Halle 'fucking' lujah." Throwing his door open, he stepped out into the freezing downpour and raced to meet them, his feet slopping in the now soupy grass as he ran. "Is everyone okay?" he shouted over the rushing of the rain. All three of them were completely soaked and shivering and Murphy, who was alarmingly pale, was being dragged more than he was walking.  
"We're alive," was all Connor could say.

Smecker nodded and quickly led the way back to the car, opening the door so they could slide Murphy into the backseat. Opening the driver's side door, he popped the trunk and stepped around to the rear of the car, retrieving an emergency blanket he had stashed there. He ran back to the driver's side, shuddering as icy raindrops found their way beneath the collar of his trench coat, and jumped inside. Edwards was settling himself in the passenger seat, leaving the two brothers in the back.

Cranking the heat, Smecker tossed the blanket over his shoulder for Connor. "You better get him warm. I don't know how much blood he lost, but the cold will make him more susceptible to shock."

Connor wasted no time in stripping his brother's sopping coat from his trembling body, followed instantly by the long sleeve sweater he wore underneath. Murphy helped pull his dripping shirt over his head and gratefully accepted the blanket that his twin was wrapping tightly around his upper body. The car was quickly warming up but it did little to ease the bitter cold that he felt seeping into his bones. Keeping his injured leg stretched out in front of him as much as possible, Murphy leaned his head back against the window and closed his eyes. He could feel a set of hands fumbling around the bullet hole in his thigh and he knocked them away with his knee, cracking one eye open to stare at his brother. "Leave it, Connor, it's fine. We've both had worse. Nothing you can do for it till we get back, anyway."

Connor nodded and reluctantly retracted his hands, continuing to monitor his brother's condition through concerned eyes. Murphy was right, they had both seen their fair share of bullet wounds, among a wide variety of other injures, and yet, somehow this one was different. It served as a reminder of just how little he was actually in control, not that he could have possibly forgotten. It was glaring proof of his own failings, of his broken promise to keep his brother safe.

Smecker watched the small exchange in the rearview mirror as he pulled back out into the late night traffic of north Red Hook. He could see the tortured weariness in Connor's eyes as he kept a silent vigil over his brother and it was a look that he was unaccustomed to seeing on his face. It was the look of a man who was being crushed under the weight of the world. He glanced sideways at Edwards who was huddled in the passenger seat, hands hovering over the closest heat vent as he tried to rub some warmth back into them.

"What happened back there?" Smecker asked quietly.

"They knew," Edwards responded in a low voice, shaking his head. "I don't know how, but they knew. They came with reinforcements. They were waiting for us."

Smecker sat quietly, absorbing that information. He had known this was coming and for the first time in his life, he despised being right. Kennedy Dawson hadn't gotten as far as he had by being a fool. Smecker knew that. He had tried to warn Connor of the dangers that would come from being so audacious, but the man had stubbornly refused to hear reason. Using the pennies had been a thoughtlessly bold move that had done nothing but paint them into a corner.

When making enemies with someone as powerful as Dawson, it was unwise to expose yourself so completely while simultaneously declaring open war. Connor and Murphy were very intelligent, dedicated, and resourceful individuals, but they were going to have to learn how to use the upper hand when it was given to them. Their success in taking out the Yakavetta family had caused them to grow cocky and overconfident in their skills. They didn't seem to understand just how different things were this time around. Now, they not only had to worry about Dawson, but also the human bloodhound who seemed to only be a step behind them and closing in quick. The fact that the cops had discovered the brothers' car was proof that they were being far too careless. That car had been registered under one of his many fake identities and short of an actual eyewitness, there was no way the authorities could have traced it back to them. It was becoming clear that if they were going to finish this mission and still continue the fight against evil, they were going to have to make a few changes to the way they conducted business. If they continued doing things the old way, they would be in custody by the end of the week.

He had told the brothers that he was only there to advise and supply them with necessary resources and that was true, but he had invested far too much of himself into this to simply sit back and watch them crash and burn on their first official mission. Smecker could only hope that he would find a way through that MacManus stubbornness. If he could sway Connor, he knew Murphy would easily follow. However, that went both ways. If Connor refused to see logic then Murphy would stay loyal to his brother and continue the path they had chosen.

It had been a mistake to not take out Dawson while they had the element of surprise. Without Dawson, his organization would crumble, and if necessary, they could always hunt down individual members who continued to cause trouble. Instead, the brothers gave up their advantage, allowing Dawson the opportunity to fight back. The Saints were no match for the power of Kennedy Dawson and unless they started fighting smarter, this was a fight they wouldn't win.

Stopping at a red light, Smecker shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror once again and was surprised to find Connor's piercing blue eyes staring back at him, the intensity of the look catching him off guard. He held his gaze for a few moments before giving him a little nod and returning his focus to the road just as the light turned green.

 _Chapter revised 11/10/17_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Christ, you're fucking heavy, Murphy. Maybe time to start cutting back on the carbs, huh?"

"Ah… go… fuck yourself, Connor," Murphy ground out breathlessly as they stumbled through the door to their apartment. Even with his twin's help, the effort it took to climb only a few flights of stairs was enough to cause his head to swim and sweat to bead along his hairline. "'Sides… I'm not the only one who could benefit from a few more workouts. We only had to climb to the third floor but judging by your breathing you'd think we just got done climbing Everest. Your lungs aren't sounding too good there, brother. You've been smoking too much."

Connor let out a snort of derision, suddenly making an effort to mask just how winded he truly was. "If I'm out of breath, _brother,_ it's from hauling your fat ass up all those fucking steps."

"Yeah? How about I-"

"Really, guys? Right now?" Shaking his head, Edwards stepped around the bickering brothers and led the way into the kitchen.

Reluctantly abandoning their argument, Connor followed the young man, leaving Smecker to lock up behind them. Hauling Murphy into the kitchen, he watched as Edwards quickly set about clearing the random items covering the kitchen table before stepping over to help him gently ease Murphy down onto the wooden surface.

"Lay all the way back, Murph. It'll make it easier for us to see what we're doing," he spoke softly, grabbing a sweatshirt draped over the back of one of the chairs to place underneath his twin's head.

With Murphy settled onto the table, Edwards turned and rifled through the cabinet under the sink until he came up with a skimpy first-aid kit filled with a meager selection of supplies.

"We're going to need more than that, kid," Connor spoke up from over his shoulder, watching as he dumped the contents of the kit onto the counter.

Selecting a pair of blunt-tipped scissors, he held them up for Connor to see. "Let's just get an idea of what we're dealing with first." Stepping back over to the table, Edwards lifted up the edge of the blanket still covering Murphy's bare torso and gently fingered the bloodstained hole in the thigh of his soaking wet jeans. Glancing up questioningly, he waited for Murphy to nod in approval before taking the scissors to the thick denim, starting at the bottom hem and cutting all the way up to the tourniquet.

Propped up on his elbows so he could watch, Murphy hissed between his teeth when the material of his pants reopened the slowly clotting wound as it was pulled away. Fresh blood ran down his thigh and onto the table, although the tourniquet was still preventing any serious blood loss.

"Sorry. I'm Sorry, I'm trying to be careful," Edwards whispered the apology, looking guiltily up at Murphy who simply shook his head. With the clothing out of the way, Edwards used gentle hands to lift Murphy's leg just enough to see that there was no exit wound through the back of his thigh.

"Shit," Connor mumbled as he bent down, seeing the same thing that Edwards did.

"What?" Murphy grunted, pushing himself further onto his elbows in an attempt to see. "Did it not go through?"

"Do we try and dig it out?" Speaking to Edwards, Connor kept his voice low, ignoring his brother. They had never had to deal with this before. Every gunshot wound they had tended to on their own had been a through and through and he wasn't one hundred percent certain of the protocol for this. In the movies they always pulled them out, but he knew that would be an excruciatingly painful task and he was loath to make his brother suffer any more than necessary, especially knowing what they were probably going to have to do to close the wound.

"No, trying to take it out could end up doing more harm than good. The chances of that bullet causing him any problems in the future are very slim. We need to focus on stopping the bleeding and closing the wound." Edwards began looking around for something clean to use to staunch the bleeding once he removed the tourniquet. After rummaging through a few drawers, he came up with a clean dish towel and moved his hands to the chunk of wood they had used as a torsion device, preparing to release it.

Connor's hand shot out, pulling the young man's wrist away from the tourniquet. "He's already lost a lot of blood. You think he can handle much more? Who knows how long it will take to stop the bleeding."

"I'll be fine. Just fucking do it," Murphy said, laying back down flat on the table and staring up at the ceiling in waiting.

Rolling his eyes, Connor shook his head. "Fucking Macho Murph," he mumbled under his breath. Releasing Edwards' wrist, he moved up to his brother's head and peered down at him. "You know what we need to do, Murph…" he left the statement open waiting for his twin to agree.

Murphy let out a long sigh before closing his eyes and nodding in agreement. "Aye. 'Fraid we don't have an iron this time, though."

A smile played at the corners of Connor's mouth and he gave his brother a pat on the cheek before turning and beginning to rifle through the contents of the kitchen in search of an alternative.

Edwards looked between them in confusion. "What exactly are you planning on doing?" he asked warily.

Connor didn't answer as he continued to slam cabinets and drawers, obviously not finding what he was looking for. Edwards watched as Connor looked around them, deep in thought, before his eyes suddenly lit up and he rushed over to where Murphy's booted feet were hanging off the table. Reaching around his brother's left ankle, he unstrapped the large knife that Murphy kept there. Edwards narrowed his eyes as Connor held the knife up triumphantly. He was uncertain of where this was going and he was starting to get an uneasy feeling in his gut. Connor immediately strode over to the stove and turned on the gas, a bright flame coming out of the small burner, before placing the blade of the knife over the fire.

Realization finally dawned on him and shook his head, his eyes going wide. "Oh, you can't be serious. You can't cauterize this! Do you have any idea how risky that is? This isn't the movies, Connor!"

Connor shrugged, his focus remaining fixed on the flame in front of him. "We've done it before."

"Well, it's a fucking miracle you survived it! There is a serious risk of infection here." Connor smirked at him, probably for his rare use of the f-bomb, but the man was no longer listening to him. Shaking his head, he glanced back to Murphy who was lying with his eyes closed. "You can't tell me your okay with this, Murph."

Murphy cracked an eyelid, staring up at the distressed young man above him. "Can't say I'm looking forward to it, but it's worked for both of us in the past. Best way to stop the bleeding."

Edwards shook his head. "Crazy. You're both absolutely insane. I'm trapped in a damn Rambo movie," He muttered mostly to himself as he turned and left the room, brushing passed Smecker who had been lingering stoically in the doorway of the kitchen. He was only gone for a moment before he returned carrying a half-full bottle of rubbing alcohol. Unscrewing the cap, he picked up the dishtowel he had found earlier and offered it to Murphy. "You might want to bite down on this," he said, holding up the bottle of alcohol to show his intention.

Murphy looked over at Connor before accepting the towel and propping himself up on his elbows. Edwards waited until he had the rolled up cloth between his teeth before tipping the bottle and dousing the bullet hole with a generous amount of the strong smelling liquid. Collapsing back flat onto the table, Murphy tried to hold back a scream but the sound escaped, coming out as a raw whimper, and he had to resist his body's urge to lash out at the person causing him pain. He knew this was only a small taste of what was to come.

Connor watched from his place by the stove, cringing in sympathy for his brother. He clinched his free hand into a fist and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He couldn't believe they were here again. Part of him was pissed at Murphy for being reckless enough to get himself shot and the other half of him was furious with himself for allowing his brother to be in the line of fire in the first place. Doing his best to shove those thoughts away for the time being, he forced himself to focus on the bright flame of the stove burner. He could hear his twin's rapid breathing in the background and looked over his shoulder to find Edwards watching him expectantly.

"Ready whenever you are."

Connor nodded and removed the now red-hot blade from the flame before stepping back over to the table. "Do you want to hold or handle the knife?" he asked.

Edwards looked unsure, eyeing the knife warily before pointing a finger at the blade. "I'll take that, he might respond better to you holding him."

Connor nodded and moved around to Murphy's head. He couldn't help but notice that Smecker had disappeared from the doorway and wondered where the man had gotten off to. Looking down at his twin's wide, slightly panicked eyes, he motioned for him to sit up. "Scoot back into me, Murph. Put your back against my chest."

Doing as he was told, Murphy sat up and pushed himself back until his injured leg was being supported fully by the table and he could feel comforting warmth of his brother behind him. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared. The pain from the last time they had done this was something he could never forget and the thought of experiencing it again had his adrenaline pumping full force. He felt like he was going to hyperventilate and they hadn't even done anything yet.

Connor reached around and grabbed the dishtowel from his brother's iron grip. Rolling it up, he eased it into Murphy's mouth and took both ends in one hand behind his head, his other arm looping around his chest, pulling his twin tightly against him. Looking up, he gave Edwards a slight nod before lowering his mouth to his brother's ear.

With one last shake of his head, Edwards pressed the fire-hot blade of the knife down hard over top the bullet hole and the smell of burning flesh instantly filled his nostrils, causing his stomach to roll.

Murphy reacted immediately, his screams barely muffled by the towel being held firmly in his mouth. His arms flailed out in an involuntary attempt to stop what was being done to him and Connor was forced to adjust his grip to keep him restrained.

"I've got you, Murph. It's almost over. Just hold onto me, I've got you," he spoke quietly with the hope of being able to offer a small amount of comfort or even just something else for his twin to focus on, but he knew from experience that Murphy couldn't hear or feel anything other than the searing of his own flesh. His struggles grew weaker by the second and Connor wished he would just pass out and make this easier on all of them, but Murphy was far too stubborn to give in. "I'm sorry, Murphy," he continued to whisper. "I'm so sorry."

After what had to have been no less than an eternity, Edwards finally withdrew the blade with shaking hands and tossed the now charred and blood stained knife into the sink. Murphy's sobs slowly died out and he relaxed heavily back into Connor's arms, his breathing rough and ragged.

"Jesus Christ."

Connor tore his attention away from his brother long enough to look up and see Smecker standing in the doorway, his phone in hand and a disturbed look gracing his features.

"He's going to be fine," Connor said firmly, the reassurance meant not only for Smecker, but also Edwards and Murphy himself.

Smecker nodded and shook off the shock brought on by the alarming scene before him. "I'm, uh, headed out to pick up a few things." He forced his gaze away from Murphy's now cauterized wound and looked up to meet Connor's eyes. "I made a few phone calls, got some prescriptions sent in for pain medication as well as some…" he looked back down at Murphy's leg, "strong antibiotics. Not sure how long it'll take me, I have to make a few other stops, but I'll try to hurry. I'll let myself in when I get back."

Connor nodded and watched the man disappear from the doorway before returning his focus to his brother's trembling body. He was about to pull the towel out from between Murphy's teeth when Edwards motioned for him to stop.

"He's probably going to want that. We need to do one more dose of alcohol before we let him be."

Connor winced at the thought and he could feel Murphy stiffen against him but he knew it was for the best. Tightening his arm around his twin's chest, he pulled him close once more. "One more, Murph, and we're done. Tell us when your ready."

Murphy allowed himself a few moments to take in a couple shaky breaths before meeting Edwards' concerned gaze and giving him a rigid nod. The pain that followed was mild compared to what he had just endured but it was still enough to drag a quiet whimper from his raw throat. He reached a hand up and gripped Connor's forearm, digging his fingers into the corded muscle with bruising force. He could hear his brother whispering words of comfort in his ear and he tried to cling to that as the stinging pain of the alcohol slowly subsided and all he was left with was the dull throbbing of his injury. He was aware of the sweat making a trail from his hair down his temple and he relaxed fully against Connor's chest, completely exhausted.

/ / /

Kennedy Dawson chewed idly on the cigar in his mouth, savoring the rich flavor as he rolled the end of the tightly wrapped tobacco between his teeth. His fingers moved slowly as he thumbed through the mess of pages strewn across the surface of the desk in front of him. Coming across a page containing two photocopied mug shots, he paused, holding the paper up to take a closer look, memorizing the faces staring back at him. For being twins, they really looked nothing alike.

It had been more difficult than he had anticipated, trying to dig up information on these men, and he had been forced to call in more than one favor to find what he needed. Most of what he had was from old news reports and police files dating back to eight years earlier when the Saints first made their appearance in South Boston, although, he had managed to scrounge up a few bits of information on the brothers themselves. He knew that they emigrated here from Ireland, and that most of their family remained behind in their homeland. That made finding a chink in their emotional armor difficult as most of the people they probably cared about were out of his reach. However, assuming Graham actually managed to do his job tonight, it wouldn't matter. The Saints would learn what it meant to interfere with the business of Kennedy Dawson.

The sound of his phone vibrating against the polished wood of his desk caught his attention and he allowed the paper in his hand to fall, settling on top of the others. Reaching a hand out he flipped his phone over, checking the display before taking the call.

"I hope you have good news for me, Graham."

 _"I… it didn't…"_ Silence. _"We have a problem."_

Dawson clinched his teeth. "And what would that be?"

 _"They were waiting for us like we thought. Unfortunately, I think… I think we may have underestimated their abilities. They had a third guy helping them and they managed to get away, taking down a good number of our men in the process."_

A heavy fist slammed down onto the dark mahogany of the desk before sweeping half of the items angrily onto the floor. "And what? You just let them walk away?! Why the fuck didn't you go after them?!"

 _"The cops got tipped off somehow and we were forced to make a quick break. If we had stayed any longer we ran the risk of losing the product."_ Graham hastily justified his actions. _"I'm sorry, sir, I made the only choice I could. I promise you, I will find them, but I can't do that for you if I'm behind bars. We were, however, able to retrieve nearly the entire shipment and it's been split up and the men are already delivering it to their respective territories,"_ He explained quickly in hopes of appeasing his livid boss.

Dawson took a few deep breaths, employing every calming technique in his arsenal in an attempt to soothe his boiling rage. He wasn't worried about the cops finding anything at the warehouse; he knew how to cover his tracks. However, the extended delay in his plans had him seeing red. He had half a mind to let Graham fill in for the MacManus' brothers as punishment for his failings, but he couldn't deny that the man was still useful to him. He would give him one more chance to redeem himself. "Were you able to find enough men to move the product?" he questioned, his voice surprisingly calm.

Graham hesitated, thrown off by his boss's suddenly easy tone. _"Yes, Sir._ _It seems that Deion's death wasn't as disastrous as we feared. Turns out the man had a cousin in Chicago, Keenan, a lieutenant in the Windy City's Red Spades branch. Apparently, the two were close. When he heard the news his cousin's death, he hopped a ride into town and took up Deion's vacant position in the gang. He has rallied the troops and has been accepted by the other members with little complaint. He's ready to pick up where Deion left off. He may also be useful where our vigilante problem is concerned. He's looking to avenge Deion's death and he's out for blood."_

Dawson stroked his chin thoughtfully as he continued to slowly gnaw on the cigar between his fingers. "That's good. Really, it couldn't have worked out better for us." Removing the cigar, he placed it in a large crystal ashtray on the far end of his desk. "What about these vigilante pricks? Any thoughts on what they could be planning next?"

Graham exhaled audibly on the other line. _"I… I really have no idea. They may lay low for a while. One of our guys was pretty certain he, at the very least, managed to clip one of them. I will check with our source at the PD and make sure that they didn't get picked up tonight, although, if they had, it would probably be all over the news right now. We got our guys on the streets keeping an eye out for them and everyone is arming up. We'll be ready for them whenever they decide to show their face again. In the meantime, I think it would be a good idea if you beefed up your own personal security. This could just as easily be a personal attack against you as it is against the city's street gangs."_

"How about you let me worry about that. You just focus on finding these assholes," Dawson bit out sharply.

 _I'll let you know as soon as I find something."_

"I'll be waiting. And, Graham? I won't accept failure a second time."

 _Chapter revised 11/11/17_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Weston rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes before surveying the gory scene around him. Bodies littered the floor, most of them dead, a few still hanging on as the EMTs worked to save their lives. He and his team had arrived on scene ten minutes ago but the chaos that seemed to have taken over the small warehouse had already ended. It had only taken a few minutes to clear the building and when it became obvious that his fugitives had already fled the scene he ordered patrols on every block and a secure perimeter set up around a five-block radius. If the MacManus boys slipped through his fingers tonight he just might shoot someone.

Standing in the center of the open warehouse was an empty semi truck and trailer. It wasn't hard to guess what this was. The demon tattoos on the victims lying on the floor told him that this was a continuation of the Saints 'war' with the Red Spades. This must have been what Deion gave up just before he died, the time and place of his next shipment, although, it would appear that things hadn't exactly gone in the MacManus brothers' favor. This was sloppy.

Weston stopped at one of the bodies on the concrete floor and toed a large black duffle that had fallen next to him after he took what appeared to be a fatal bullet to the back. Slipping on a pair of thin latex gloves, he knelt down and pulled the zipper on the bag, shaking his head in disgust when he got a look at the contents. The duffle was packed full with at least two-dozen tightly wrapped, yellowish bricks. _Fucking heroin._

That was the only bag lying around and he felt slightly sick when he thought about how many men must have gotten away, how much of this shit was going to end up out on the streets. For the first time since he had been assigned to this case, he felt a small sliver of understanding for the Saints and their cause, but the thought was fleeting and it didn't change anything. Killing was killing, no matter their reasons. He had a job to do and, damn it, he was going to get it done.

"What ya got, Boss?"

Garcia's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked over his shoulder at him before gaining his feet and kicking the duffle bag with his toe. "Drugs, heroin by the looks of it. Do we have anything yet?" He looked hopefully at the younger man standing next to him.

Garcia shook his head. "Nothing yet."

"Damn it," Weston exhaled, letting his head fall back so he was looking up at the ceiling. "There's no way they made it out of the neighborhood before that perimeter was set up. I want every street, every alley, behind every dumpster searched. Tell the patrols to keep an eye out for busted windows or broken locks, make sure they aren't holed up in another building somewhere."

"Will do. We're talkin' twenty-five city blocks, though, it's going to take some time. I'll make sure we've got all available uniforms on the streets. I've also got a unit waiting at their car in case they try to circle back around to it."

"Good," Weston nodded as Garcia turned to walk away. Taking another look around the warehouse, he tilted his head as something caught his eye. Stepping away from the body, he walked a few feet until he was staring down into a rather large pool of blood. "Garcia," he called, motioning his partner back over. "Who do you suppose this belongs to?" He outlined the random crimson puddle with his finger.

Garcia glanced around him, looking for a body that could've possibly left that behind. Coming up with nothing, he shrugged. "Beats me." Kneeling down, he pointed out something alongside the blood. "But whoever it was, they left a trail." He took a few steps forward, drawing attention to the small drops of blood leading away from the larger pool.

Weston moved alongside his partner as they followed the string of droplets until they reached the man-door exit on the North side of the building. Pushing the door open, he stepped out far enough to see that the trail continued across the street.

"You think it's from one of them?" Garcia questioned.

Weston's gut told him yes but he shook his head. "I don't know, but either way, whoever left this trail is someone I would like to talk to." Stepping back through the door, he quickly gathered a small group of men to him, as well as some flashlights, and together they set off, following the trail a zigzagging block and a half before it came to a stop behind a dumpster in a dead end alley.

"Shit," Weston swore under his breath. "They must have tied off the wound." He shined his flashlight around the immediate area, looking for any signs. "The trail ends here." He paced forward a few steps before lashing out at the metal dumpster, kicking it hard with his foot. "Damn it!"

It was them. He knew it. Whoever was injured had lost a lot of blood and wouldn't have made it this far without help, and it wasn't lost on him that the trail happened to be moving in the same direction as the parked car they had found three blocks over. Turning back to his awaiting team, he began giving orders. "Radio the officers on the streets, I want the search focused in this area. We need to let the officers at the car know that there is a good chance the fugitives are headed in their direction."

They were close. He could practically fucking smell them, they were so close. He felt the familiar tingle along his spine that he always got when his prey was within reach and he felt a sense of urgency whispering in his ear, spurring him on. He glanced over at Garcia who had stepped up next to him. "We're going to continue searching on foot." He informed his partner who quickly nodded in agreement.

Moving out of the alley, they kept up a quick pace, following nothing but Weston's gut instincts. They made their way through the streets, searching every shadow in every side street as they went. They covered the blocks quickly and every minute that passed only increased Weston's urgency.

After an hour of searching Weston felt like screaming. They had been _right here_! Now he couldn't ignore the feeling that they were only getting further away. With as many men as they had in the streets, they should have found them by now. After another forty-five minutes of fruitless labor, Weston reluctantly agreed to head back to the warehouse where they found Special Agent Kuntsler talking animatedly on his phone while the crime scene techs worked in a flurry around him. When the FBI agent saw them approaching he ended his call and met them halfway.

"We've got nothing, Marshal. My men have searched this entire area inside and out and they assure me that your fugitives aren't here."

Weston didn't need to be told that, he could feel it. Shaking his head in anger, he stalked a few feet away, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. How the fuck did they manage to slip past them? Maybe they had help on the inside. They had a lot of men from several different departments out on the streets tonight, men that were unfamiliar to him, men who he had no idea where their loyalties lay. All it would take was one sympathizer on the force and they could have allowed them to move right on through. That was what made this case so damn infuriating. Some people, including officers of the law, actually believed in what these crazy bastards were doing. It made his job twice as hard.

His aggravation with himself for failing, yet again, to bring his men in, for having them so close and yet still manage to weasel their way out of his grasp, caused him to finally lose his grip on his normally calm and confident exterior. "Fuck!" he swore loudly, ripping his hands through his hair. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he yelled up at the rafters of the warehouse.

Garcia eyed his mentor in surprise. In the years that he had known Weston he had never seen him loose his cool. The man had always kept his head, no matter the situation. Garcia had also never seen anyone slip past his partner as often and as easily as the MacManus brothers had in the last two months. Weston was one of the best in the Service. It was why Garcia had wanted to work with him so bad.

Taking a deep breath, Weston composed himself before turning and stalking back across the warehouse, ignoring Garcia's wide, shocked eyes and Kunstler's raised eyebrow as he passed. "I want the entire area swept over again, make sure we check every corner of every building. Then, I want a complete run-down of the warehouse from the crime scene techs. I want to be sure we missed absolutely nothing."

/ / /

Connor relaxed back into the overstuffed chair with a sigh, propping his feet up on the worn coffee table as he lit his next cigarette using the cherry off his previous one. Inhaling deeply, he discarded the smoldering filter between his fingers in the nearly overflowing ashtray that sat on the arm of his chair before tilting his head back, blowing the smoke toward the cracked and slightly discolored ceiling above him. Lowering his gaze, he returned his focus back to Murphy's sleeping form on the couch.

After they got his leg taken care of, Connor cleaned and dressed the bullet graze that ran across his brother's neck before dutifully checking him over for any other injuries. Satisfied that Murphy was out of immediate danger, he helped his twin into the living room and deposited him onto the couch where he very quickly fell into a fitful sleep, arm thrown over his eyes to block out the light from the kitchen. Edwards was taking a turn in the shower, washing off the blood and debris from the night, and Smecker had yet to return from his errands, leaving Connor to watch over Murphy alone with nothing but a swiftly depleting pack of smokes and his own self-incriminating thoughts.

He couldn't help but miss the old days when him and Murphy were able to fight side by side, complete trust in their mission and the faith that God would see them safely through. He hated this feeling of fear that was tearing him apart inside. He despised himself for it, and he was tired of it running his life and haunting his dreams. He refused to continue allowing it access, choosing instead to transform all of his fear and all of his guilt and morph into something he was more comfortable with: anger.

He was angry that Murphy got shot, angry about their failed job, angry that those fucking gang bangers had gotten away tonight, he was angry at Edwards for so willingly putting himself in unnecessary danger, angry at Maddox for the hell he put them through, angry that Romeo had died because of his actions, angry about Da, Greenly and Rocco, and, for the first time in his life, he was angry at God. The feeling of betrayal when he allowed his mind to linger on that last one was strong and burned like a knife in his chest.

Connor and Murphy had both lived their entire lives with a very strong faith. They had served God with a constant, unwavering devotion, never questioning, never doubting. Even when this mission was placed before them, they took it up without a second thought, and they have been repaid with nothing but heartache and pain.

Connor knew that the path they had chosen was the right one; if he could go back he wouldn't change a thing. They had made a real difference and saved countless of innocents in the process, but it didn't help the feelings of confusion and anger that were plaguing him now. He didn't understand why. Why did it feel like they were being punished? Why was everyone close to him suffering? It didn't seem fair.

"How's he doing?"

The voice startled Connor out of his runaway thoughts and he lifted his head to find Edwards, dark hair still damp from his shower, giving him a knowing look from where he stood in the hallway. Removing his booted feet from the coffee table, Connor leaned forward, discarding his cigarette in the ashtray before running calloused hands over his face. "He's gonna be fine," he said quietly, allowing his gaze to drift back to where Murphy lay sprawled out on the couch.

Edwards nodded, stepping fully into the room and taking a seat in the chair next to Connor. "And you?"

Connor looked down at the smears of blood on his arms and clothes before glancing briefly at Edwards. "I told you both, I'm fine. None of this is mine," he added quietly with a shake of his head. Nope, none of it was his. It all belonged to Murphy.

"Yeah," Edwards sighed, a hint of sadness in his voice. "I know what you said."

A moment of silence stretched between them before the younger man spoke again. "I know we haven't known each other very long, Connor, but I'm pretty good at reading people, and I'd like to think I'm a good judge of character." Edwards looked over at Connor who continued to avoid his gaze, keeping his eyes nailed to his twin. "I've always looked up to the Saints, even before I knew the men behind the masks, but over the last several months, I have had the opportunity to get to know you both and you have far surpassed my expectations. I hold both you and Murphy in the highest regard. I trust you with my life, Connor, and I hope you know that you can trust me, as well. You don't have to do this alone."

Connor dropped his gaze down to his hands. "I'm beginning to think that is the only way I can do this," he muttered quietly.

"Murphy would kick your ass if he heard you say that," Edwards huffed a short, humorless laugh before shaking his head. "How can you think that? You can't honestly believe you would be better off on your own."

Ignoring the question, Connor reached for his smokes, lighting yet another before leaning back in the chair and resuming his silent vigil.

When it became clear that he wasn't going to get a response, Edwards slid to the edge of his seat, tilting forward in an attempt to put himself in Connor's line of sight. "He's not dead, Connor," he said quietly, gesturing in Murphy's direction. "You said yourself, you've both suffered worse. Tonight might not have gone as planned but Murphy is going to be fine and we _will_ get them. If you believe that God sent you on this mission then you have to trust that He will see you through it."

Connor snorted lightly as if the idea was laughable and Edwards narrowed his eyes at his friend. He had never been particularly religious, however, he had witnessed firsthand the depth of the brothers' dedication to their beliefs. He knew that their faith had been a driving force in this undertaking and seeing Connor make light of his own beliefs left Edwards feeling sad and more than a little concerned. He was just opening his mouth to continue his questioning when the sound of the lock on the front door being turned caught both of their attention.

Connor was immediately on his feet, gun in hand as he stalked across the room, weapon ready but aimed down at the floor. The door opened and Smecker ducked quickly inside carrying a bag in each hand. He paused when he saw Connor's tense and ready position. "It's just me," he reassured, hands raised slightly.

Connor's stance loosened and he gave the older man a brief nod before setting his gun back onto the coffee table and returning to his seat.

Dropping his bags onto the table, Smecker eyed the three occupants of the room, his eyes coming to rest on Murphy. "Did you get him taken care of?" he asked quietly as he began rifling through the plastic sacks.

Connor nodded. "Aye, he's good."

"Good." Pulling a small plastic bottle out of one bag, he tossed it in Connor's direction. "Here, you should get him started on those as soon as possible."

Connor caught the bottle easily with one hand and spun it in his fingers, reading the long name of what he could only assume was a very powerful antibiotic. Pushing himself out of his chair, he skirted the edge of the coffee table and took a seat on the side of the couch by Murphy's legs. "Murph," he called softly, giving his twin a gentle shake.

Murphy woke slowly, groaning as the pain of his injuries returned to the surface of his consciousness. His head felt foggy and he made an attempt to push himself up onto his elbows but was stopped by his brother's hand on his chest.

"Stay down, ya idiot, I just need you to take this," Connor chastised, holding his hand out.

Pushing his twin's hand away, Murphy sent him a glare and forced himself into a sitting position.

Connor rolled his eyes at his brother's stubbornness but didn't protest, just opened his hand, offering up the large white pill in his palm. Edwards came out of the kitchen carrying a fresh glass of water and handed it off to Murphy who accepted it gratefully. Connor waited until his brother swallowed the pill down with a grimace before moving in to inspect the bandage on his thigh.

"How's it feeling?" he asked, glancing up at his twin.

Murphy shrugged. "You know how it feels."

"Aye." He did know exactly how it felt and he subconsciously began rubbing his own thigh, cringing at the memory.

"Here."

Connor looked up to see Smecker tossing another prescription bottle in his direction. Catching it, he read the label. _Oxycodone._ Smirking, he passed it over to Murphy who took a moment to look at it before shaking his head and handing it back.

"You know I don't want any of that," he said, wincing as he readjusted himself on the couch.

Connor held back a chuckle as he set the bottle aside. "Aye, I didn't think so."

"Why not?" Edwards asked as he picked up the bottle, inspecting the label. "These are some kick-ass painkillers." All three men turned to look at him and he shrugged, setting the bottle back down. "What? I had appendicitis when I was fifteen and the doctor gave me these to help with my recovery. I was out of school for two weeks and let me tell you, there are worse ways to spend two weeks than laying in bed feeling like you're floating on a cloud." He chuckled to himself but trailed off when he noticed the raised eyebrows directed at him.

"Okay," Smecker spoke up slowly, grabbing the small prescription bottle back from its place on the coffee table. "We'll be keeping these away from Edwards." His tone was serious but the sparkle in his eyes let the young man know he was teasing. Connor and Murphy both snickered quietly at the flustered look on the kid's face.

"Murph has had a thing about pain killers ever since we were in our late teens," Connor explained, answering Edwards' previous question. "He used to get terrible migraines when we were younger. One night we were at a party when he came down with one-"

"Connor…" Murphy growled in protest, giving his brother a nudge with his elbow.

Connor glanced back at Murphy, grinning at the glare his twin was laying on him. "Alright, alright," he gave in with a shake of his head. "You never let me tell any of the good ones." Turning back to Edwards, he continued. "Anyway, long story short, he got pretty messed up that night and vowed to never again take anything like that again."

"Well, it's a good thing I picked up an alternative then." Smecker reached into the second bag and removed an unopened bottle of Jameson.

"Lord, bless this fucking man," Murphy declared, reaching out for the whiskey. "Where would we be without you, Smecker?"

"I don't think you really want the answer to that," he replied darkly, handing over the bottle.

"Umm…" Edwards spoke up hesitantly. "I hate to always be that annoying voice of reason, but you lost a lot of blood, Murphy. Are you sure you should be drinking?"

"Definitely," Murphy responded with conviction as he twisted the cap off. "I'm replacing the fluids I lost."

"They're Irish," Smecker reasoned. "Whiskey is like their lifeblood, or some shit. However," he continued, his expression turning more serious, "we do have some things we need to discuss so don't go too crazy with that just yet."

Murphy nodded, taking a long pull from the dark green bottle before passing it off to Connor who simply set it aside. Leaning forward he snatched his cigarettes off the table and pulled out two, lighting both and passing one off to Murphy. Settling back into the couch, he regarded Smecker with a pensive look. He had a good idea where this conversation was headed.

Seeing that he had a captive audience, Smecker took a seat in the empty chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We need to talk about how to move forward from this," he began, not wasting any time. "Dawson is an aggressive businessman and he's going to be gunning for you hard now that he knows that you're attempting to interfere with his business. I tried to warn you about this." He looked pointedly at Connor. "You can't provoke a rattlesnake and then expect it not to strike. You have to cut off the head before it sees you coming. Now, not only does Dawson know that someone is trying to mess with his operation, thanks to your pennies, he also knows who."

Murphy felt his hackles rise at Smecker's criticism. Sure, maybe they had made the wrong choice in not going after Dawson first. He had been all for putting two bullets in the fucker's head right from the get go, but he respected Connor's reasons for wanting to wait. And maybe revealing their presence in the city hadn't been the smartest idea but it was important to Connor, and Murphy understood why. The religious aspect represented by the pennies reminded them both why they were doing this.

Glancing sideways at his twin, he saw the muscle in brother's jaw ticking in agitation as he glared at the smoldering cigarette between his fingers. Admitting to his mistakes had never been Connor's strong suit and Murphy could tell that having the dangerous outcome of his choices thrust back in his face was tearing him up.

"Look," Smecker continued with a sigh, pressing his fingers into his tired eyes. "I understand why you wanted to do it this way, okay? I get it. But I need you to trust me. I'm here only to help you, but you have to be willing to let me. You don't have to do this on your own anymore."

Connor shook his head. Isn't that what Edwards had just finished telling him? "What do you suggest?" he asked, his voice hard. By asking that question knew he was admitting to his failure and that admission left a bad taste in his mouth.

Smecker was slightly surprised that Connor wasn't putting up more of a fight but he didn't question it. "You need to end this," he insisted. "Cut off the snake's head and the rest of the body will die."

"And what about all of the people who benefit from Dawson's charities? They're a part of the body, that means they're going to die too." Connor pointed out, bringing back his whole reason for not doing this in the first place.

"The good that that man has done doesn't outweigh the turmoil he has caused. It can't be allowed to continue."

Connor took a long drag off his smoke before glancing over at Murphy who was watching him expectantly. They held each other's gaze for several long moments, a silent conversation passing between the two of them, before finally, Connor nodded his head, turning back to Smecker. "Aye, we'll do it."

Smecker looked relieved. "Good, it's the right-"

"Under one condition," Connor interrupted, holding up the pointer finger of his smoking hand. He ignored Murphy's confused frown and waited until Smecker sat back in his chair, eyebrow raised before continuing. "I'm finishing this asshole off on my own. Just me."

"The fuck you are!" Murphy protested immediately. "And fuck you for even suggesting it!"

"Murph, you just took a fucking bullet to the leg. You're not in any shape to be out there right now," Connor tried to reason.

"I'm fucking fine! I don't need you babysitting me. I know my limits! We were both sporting new bullet holes the night we stormed Papa Joe's house and you didn't let it stop us then!"

"And look how fucking well that went!" Connor retaliated, jamming his burnt cigarette angrily into the ashtray before sticking a finger in his brother's face. "I'm sure Roc would agree that it wasn't our brightest idea."

Murphy felt a stab of pain at the casual way his brother threw their friends death in his face and it only fueled his anger. "Oh fuck you, Connor! If Roc were here the only fucking thing he would agree on is that you're being a fucking pussy!"

Connor didn't explode like Murphy had expected him to; he simply sat back into the couch, looking exhausted and defeated. "You're not in any shape to be out there, Murph," he repeated half-heartedly.

"So take me," Edwards spoke up, looking meaningfully at Connor. "There's no reason you have to do it alone."

Connor looked over at the young man and he could see the same sincere look in his eye from their earlier conversation, but he shook his head in denial. "Na, kid, you need to stay here, too."

"And what makes you fucking think I'll listen to you, hmm?" Murphy continued, his anger still burning bright. "You can bitch and cry all you fucking want, but I'm not letting you fucking do this alone. You go, I go," he stated with finality, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest.

Connor knew this argument was going nowhere. He knew Murphy would never accept what he had to do and Connor was slightly surprised that he hadn't received his twin's fist in the face for his efforts. Leaning forward he rubbed calloused hands over his face. "Fine," he muttered quietly.

Murphy raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Yeah, Murphy. Fine. You win."

"Yeah?" Murphy asked again, having a hard time believing that his brother would roll over so easily.

"Yeah."

"Promise me," Murphy demanded, scooting closer to his twin on the couch. "Promise me that we'll do this together."

Connor had never purposefully lied to his brother and he found that doing so now was damn near impossible. It broke his heart but he swallowed hard before nodding his head. "I promise, Murph." Once the words were out, he felt guilt of a new kind flood his conscience.

"Good." Murphy offered him a half smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"But the kid stays here," Connor added on.

"What? No! We're past this now." Edwards complained in exasperation. "If I hadn't been there with you tonight neither of you would be here now. I can help you!"

Murphy looked back and forth between his twin and their young friend. He couldn't deny that Edwards had been useful. He was the kind of guy that Murphy wouldn't mind having at his back, but as Connor turned to look at him, he knew he had to go along with it. The look in his brother's eyes was hard, daring him to challenge his decision, and Murphy knew that now wasn't the time for this argument. He knew his brother inside and out and he could see something in his blue eyes that spoke of desperation. There was something else there as well but Murphy couldn't tell what it was and that had him worried. He knew that, after everything that happened tonight, Connor was on an emotional brink and Murphy was afraid of what would happen if he backed his twin into a corner. He didn't want him to do anything stupid. "Aye, the kid'll stay here," he agreed.

Shaking his head, Edwards exhaled angrily as he pushed himself from his chair and stormed from the room. Murphy's eyes followed the young man as he made for the hallway and flinched slightly when he heard the kid's door slam shut. He felt more than a little guilty and he hoped that once this job was done things would start getting easier, less complicated.

"Okay," Smecker said, breaking his silence. He hadn't wanted to get in the middle of the brothers' squabble and was relieved when they resolved their issues, even if it wasn't what Edwards had wanted to hear. In his opinion, three men were better than two, but two was still better than one, and he was glad Connor had agreed to at the very least take his brother with him. "I'll give you a few days to heal up and get rested then I'll be in touch. We'll finish this guy off and get the hell out of this city. Things are heating up out there and every day we spend here is another chance for that Marshal to catch your scent."

"Aye, but Dawson isn't the only one we need to take out before our business here is done," Connor insisted. "The man," he looked to Murphy. "The one that was there tonight? He's some sort of higher up. Dawson's second in command, maybe. I don't know. But he doesn't get to live. He has to go, too."

Smecker nodded thoughtfully. "I'll make some calls, see if I can get some pictures from the FBI database of possible suspects. If you can ID the man for me, I can try and get some more info on him."

Connor nodded. "Sounds good. Thank you, Smecker."

"Aye, thanks," Murphy added. "For everything. You saved our asses tonight."

"It's what I'm here for, you just have to be willing to let me help you." Smecker's eyes fell to Connor again and he gave him a knowing look before standing from his seat and gesturing to the front door. "Well, I'm calling it a night. You boys give me a call if you need anything, all right? Lay low here for the time being and I'll be in touch in a few days."

Murphy nodded and Connor gained his feet, preparing to walk the man to the door. Throwing the locks, he pulled the door open and Smecker walked through, stopping and turning once he was out in the hallway.

"Here." He said, reaching into his pocket and tossing something in Connor's direction.

Connor caught the object against his stomach and cocked an eyebrow as he read the label of yet another prescription bottle. _Eszopiclone._

"I heard you were having a hard time sleeping," Smecker explained before stepping down the hall away from the door. "Get some rest, Connor," he called over his shoulder. "You look like shit."

Connor mumbled under his breath as he shoved the orange bottle into the pocket of his jeans, watching as Smecker disappeared down the hall. Once he was out of sight, he closed the door, replaced the locks and stepped over to where Murphy was still seated on the couch. "C'mon, Murph, lets get you to bed."

Murphy grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table and took a healthy swig before accepting the arm that his twin extended down to him. Together they hobbled down the hall, past Edwards door where a steady _thump thump thump_ of fists on a heavy bag could be heard, down to the open doorway of their bedroom. Connor deposited Murphy gently in his bed before falling heavily onto his own mattress.

Laying there in the darkness listening to his twin's light snoring, he rolled the bottle of sleeping pills between his fingers, considering the bliss of a deep, and potentially dreamless sleep. After a few more moments of contemplation, he popped off the child-safe lid and shook out two little white pills into the palm of his hand. He tossed them to the back of his throat and dry swallowed them before replacing the lid and tossing the bottle into the drawer of his nightstand. It only took a few minutes before he felt the pull on his already exhausted mind and he let it drag him into darkness with a smile of relief.

 _Chapter revised 11/12/17_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When Murphy awoke the next day, he could tell from the position of the sun streaming through their tiny bedroom window that it was well into late afternoon. He glanced across the room, expecting to find Connor's bed empty, as it usually was since he had started having trouble sleeping, and was pleasantly surprised to see his twin still dozing heavily. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he gave a small smile at the sight of his brother passed out on his stomach, one arm dangling over the side of the bed. It had been a long time since Murphy had seen him looking so at ease.

It seemed that ever since their escape from the Hoag, there was a dark cloud constantly hanging over his twin's head. Even when they were joking around, you could still see it in his eyes, and Murphy wished he knew how to help him, how to put his soul at peace.

Connor wasn't the only one who felt a responsibility for the people they had lost. Murphy carried around his own guilty conscience, but he didn't let it weigh him down. He was able to look at the bigger picture. Everyone who had sacrificed their life to help them on their mission had done so of their own volition. They had all known the risks and they had all made their choice for the greater good. That wasn't to say that he didn't fear for Edwards' life, or Connor's for that matter, every time they went out there, or that there wasn't a painful hole in his heart for every friend they had lost, it simply meant that he trusted God's reasons.

That seemed to be something that his twin was unable to do. Connor was too quick to accept the blame for things that he had no control over and it took all of Murphy's restraint to keep from trying to pound some sense into his brother's stubbornly thick skull. He was beyond frustrated with his twin's overprotective attempts to go all lone wolf on him. Murphy had tried everything he could think of to get Connor to see reason, to convince him that there was nothing he could have done to change anything and to just fucking _forgive_ himself. Connor didn't want to hear any of it.

Murphy pushed himself the rest of the way up, wincing as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His thigh was extremely sore and the healing burn was beginning to itch something awful. He resisted the urge to peel away the bandage, choosing instead to stand shakily to his feet and limp around the room until he found a decent pair of jeans. As quietly as he could, he pulled the pants on, biting back a groan as his injuries protested the movement. Once they were fastened around his hips, he pocketed his brother's smokes from the top of his nightstand and snuck silently out of the room.

He made a quick stop in the bathroom before heading down the hall. The rich smell of coffee told him that Edwards was already awake. As he rounded the corner, entering the living room, he found the young man perched on the edge of the couch, steaming cup in hand as he focused intently on news channel which was playing on the ancient twenty inch TV they had set up in the corner.

"What're they saying?" Murphy asked, stepping forward, intending to take a seat on the couch.

Edwards shrugged, not bothering to look up in any sort of greeting. "Nothing new," he responded shortly, taking another sip from his mug. "They're talking about the warehouse in Red Hook but the reporters all seem to be pretty clueless about what happened. There has been some speculation that the Saints were involved but nothing confirmed yet."

Murphy nodded as he took up the seat next to Edwards, easing down slowly to avoid aggravating his injuries. Pulling out his smokes, he lit one up, tossing the pack onto the coffee table. He could feel the tension emanating from the young man next to him and he repressed a sigh. He felt bad about the way things had worked out last night but Connor hadn't left him much choice in the matter. Edwards was going to have to stay behind and Murphy knew how much that pissed the kid off.

Choosing to ignore the hostility in the air, Murphy, instead, turned his focus onto the TV, tuning into the woman who had just appeared on screen standing in front of a very familiar warehouse.

" _We're reporting to you live from the neighborhood of Red Hook in Northwest Brooklyn where last night a violent massacre took the lives of at least nine men, injuring several more. We suspect this carnage to be gang related and while we have yet to receive any official statement about what exactly went on here, rumors have led us to believe this could be the work of the ruthless vigilante duo known as the Saints. After an eight-year hiatus from their original killing spree back in 1999, the Saints reappeared in Boston this fall where a string of murders eventually led to their incarceration at the Hoag Maximum Security Prison. After only two months in custody the Saints, who we now know as brothers Connor and Murphy MacManus, managed to escape. Their last known location was right here in Brooklyn where just earlier this week, they were responsible for the deaths of ten men, all belonging to the local street gang known as the Red Spade Demons."_

Edwards hit the mute button before tossing the remote to the side with a shrug. "Nothing new," he repeated.

Murphy nodded, as he inhaled on his cigarette again. He never would get used to seeing his and Connor's story plastered all over the media. It was a strange thing, seeing your life through the eyes ofthe general public. Glancing back at the TV where the reporter was still rambling silently, heshook his head, jamming his spent cigarette into the ashtray on the table. He glanced sideways at Edwards to see that the kid was just sitting there, staring into his cup of coffee. Murphy considered trying to talk to him and hash things out but the young man spoke first.

"How's the leg?" he asked, his tone hard.

Murphy shrugged one shoulder, his hand moving to his thigh. "Not bad, considering. I should probably change the bandage, though."

Edwards nodded and stood to his feet, moving around in the kitchen for a moment before reappearing with an armful of supplies.

"I can do it, kid, you don't have to," Murphy protested when the young man dumped his armload onto the coffee table and knelt down in front of him.

"I don't mind, I want to take a look at it anyway," he insisted, his voice softer but still holding a bit of an edge to it. "I'm going to need you to pull your pants down, though."

Smirking, Murphy stood and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down just far enough before sitting again. "Goin' right after it, aren't ya? They usually at least try and buy me a drink first."

Edwards rolled his eyes at the attempt at humor but couldn't deny the hint of a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. With clear access to the bandaged part of Murphy's thigh, he immediately got to work, cringing when the old bandage pulled at the hair and skin as it was being removed. He apologized softly but otherwise remained silent as he set about cleaning the raw wound. The burn looked irritated and horribly painful but he was relieved to see that it had yet to show any signs of infection. Edwards felt his stomach clench at the memory of burning flesh and tried to forget the way the red-hot knife sizzled against the bloody bullet wound. Taking a healthy dose of aloe vera cream into his hand, he began rubbing it lightly into the cauterized wound. He glanced up, noticing that Murphy had let his head fall against the back of the couch with his eyes squeezed shut. "Almost done," he whispered encouragingly.

Wiping his hand off on a towel, the young man pulled a fresh bandage from it's sterile packaging and quickly taped it in place. "All finished. You want me to check the graze on your neck?"

Murphy opened his eyes and stood, pulling his pants back up. "Na, I can take care of it later. Thanks, Josh," he said quietly, watching as the young man gathered the trash he had accumulated. Edwards nodded but didn't say anything else as he worked, cleaning up his mess. The tension had settled back over them and Murphy sighed audibly. He watched as Edwards returned from a trip to the kitchen carrying a large white pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"You need to take this once in the morning and once at night for the next ten days."

"Yes, Ma," Murphy quipped as he tossed the pill back, downing the glass of water with it.

Edwards rolled his eyes again, shaking his head as he returned to his seat on the couch. "You Irish are infuriating, you know that?"

Murphy would've laughed had it not been for the note of genuine irritation in the young man's voice. Instead, he just nodded in agreement. "Aye."

The silence that fell over them was thick and he glanced sidelong at his friend once more to see that he was staring straight back at him. Murphy exhaled loudly, running a hand through his dark, messy hair as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright, I know you're fucking pissed, aye? But you don't have to keep fucking looking at me like that."

"This is a mistake, Murphy. I know you know it," Edwards said, his voice low.

Murphy pulled out another smoke, lighting it up with a shrug. "We'll be fine," he answered confidently, although the warning in his heart spoke otherwise.

"Why risk it?" Edwards continued. "You're injured, what if you guys have to make a run for it? There are so many factors, different things that could go wrong. I'm here, you just have to let me help!"

Murphy exhaled a cloud of smoke, casually tapping the ash off into the ashtray. He was trying to play this off as blasé as possible in hopes of avoiding an argument as well as mask his own doubts. It didn't matter that he agreed with everything Edwards was saying. Connor wasn't going to budge this time and Murphy was still haunted by the betrayed look on his twin's face the last time he went against him on the subject.

"Everything will work out fine, kid. I don't know what else to tell you."

Edwards dropped his gaze into his hands, trying to keep his frustration at bay. It hurt that he was once again being shut out, but he didn't really blame Murphy for that. Connor hadn't given him much of a choice in the matter.

Deep down Edwards understood why it was so hard for the brothers to let him in. Murphy had always been more supportive of his involvement but it was painfully obvious that Connor was going through some shit. The man seemed to be caught in his own personal hell and he refused to let anyone help him, even Murphy. The brothers had such a tight knit relationship and were closer than any two people he had ever met before, and yet, Connor was doing everything he could to push them all away. Edwards knew he was only doing it to try and keep from losing anyone else, but he was going to get himself killed in the process.

"Look," Murphy sighed, fixing him with an open gaze. "If it was up to me, you would be out there right along with us, you've earned that much, but Connor's not gonna let it go this time." Edwards shook his head but Murphy didn't give him a chance to argue. "You know why he's doing this. Connor's a protector, he always has been. It just means he cares about you, we both do, and he doesn't want anything to happen to you."

"I'm worried about something happening to _you two_."

Murphy smiled. "You're a good kid, Josh. We'll be fine."

Edwards frowned, hardly convinced. "I'm not a kid," he grumbled petulantly.

"Yes, you are." A new voice came from over their shoulders and they both turned to find Connor rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Murphy watched his brother, trying to gauge his mood. He was unsure how much of that conversation he had overheard. Connor, however, gave nothing away as he stumbled into the living room, motioning for Edwards to scoot over so he could sit in the middle next to his brother.

"Looks like you slept pretty good," Murphy observed, patting him on the shoulder as he tossed the cigarettes into his lap. He was relieved to see that his twin looked more rested than he had in the last two months and decided to take it as a good sign.

Connor shrugged, lighting up a smoke. "Not bad." It had been glorious actually. The best sleep he had had since before they were arrested, a full eight hours and not a nightmare to be had. "What we got in the way of breakfast?" he asked, looking around as he scratched his head until his already messy hair was sticking straight up.

"Coffee's in the kitchen," Edwards offered.

Connor nodded and stood, grumbling about making Smecker get them some real fucking food as he made his way to the kitchen. He disappeared for a moment before returning with two steaming mugs, handing one off to Murphy as he sat back down. Connor took a sip of the dark liquid, humming to himself as the warmth reached his belly, chasing away the general chill of the apartment. "Mmmm, not bad. It's missing something, though." Reaching forward, he picked up the bottle of whiskey from the night before and poured a generous amount into his cup, doing the same for Murphy, who held his mug out eagerly. Taking another sip, he nodded to himself. Perfection. Connor took another drag from his smoke before noticing the familiar face that had come onto the TV still playing on mute in the corner. "Hey, turn that shit up, will you," he said quickly, using his smoking hand to point at the remote next to Edwards.

They young man did as he was told, pointing the remote at the TV and hitting the red mute button.

" _Here with us we have U.S. Deputy Marshal Charlie Weston. Marshal, what can you tell us about what went on here last night?"_

The cameraman focused on the man standing to the right of the reporter. "That's him," Connor said, looking over at Murphy. "He's the one I talked to in the hospital. He's in charge of hunting us down and according to Smecker, the man is damn good at his job."

Murphy nodded darkly.

" _Details of the parties involved in last nights shootings are the business of the FBI, I don't have clearance to discuss those with you. However, I am able to clear up some questions as to the involvement of the men known as the Saints."_

The reporter looked suddenly excited. _"Are you confirming that the Saints were indeed responsible for what happened here?"_

The Marshal nodded. _"While I can't divulge too many details, we do have strong evidence, including DNA found at the scene, that says the MacManus brothers had a part to play in last nights violence. We believe that these fugitives are still in the city and we are asking that if anyone sees or hears anything suspicious regarding these individuals,"_ The brothers' mug shots popped up at the bottom of the screen, _"that you call the number at the top of the screen. Do not attempt to confront these men as they are considered to be armed and very dangerous."_

The reporter moved her microphone back to her mouth, interrupting the Marshal. _"Do you really believe these men would hurt innocent civilians? I feel like their actions, both past and present, have proved that they are only interested in serious criminals."_

Weston looked genuinely annoyed. _"I'm not here to discuss my opinion on the MacManus brothers. It's my job to ensure public safety by returning these ruthless murderers to the prison cell they both belong in."_ He turned his focus onto the camera, speaking directly to the viewers. _"And regardless of your personal opinion on the Saints, I'm imploring you to do the right thing and call us if you have any information on their whereabouts. Whether or not you believe they are doing the right thing, it is only a matter of time before an innocent civilian gets caught in the crossfire and it could be your mother, father, brother, sister or child who pays the price. We are also asking you to be on the lookout for this man."_ Edwards' picture flashed on the screen next to Connor and Murphy's. _"Joshua Edwards was the prison guard responsible for the Saints' escape. His location is still unknown and it is unclear if he's still working with the brothers. Again, if you see or hear anything regarding these three individuals, please give us a call immediately at the number on the top of your screen."_

The screen went back to the anchors at the station and Edwards hit mute again. He glanced over to see the brothers giving each other a dark look. "We really need to get out of this city," the young man muttered, breaking Connor and Murphy's silent communication.

Connor jammed his cigarette into the full ashtray on the coffee table. "Aye, hopefully Smecker will get back to us soon, then Murph and I can finish this off and we can be on our merry way before the end of the week."

Murphy nodded in agreement. He hoped it would be as simple as Connor made it sound but getting a look at that Marshal for himself had unsettled him. Something about the man had left him rattled and Murphy was suddenly feeling claustrophobic, as if the city itself were closing in around them.

/ / /

The next two days passed by agonizingly slow. Their already tiny apartment seemed to be shrinking around them, which was only made worse by the general anxious energy of the three occupants. Smecker finally contacted them late Sunday night to tell them what they had been itching to hear: it was time. The man came by the next morning bearing a box of donuts and a large selection of Manhattan street maps. Together, they spent the majority of the afternoon planning out the best way to end Mr. Dawson's corrupt and nefarious existence.

Using sources that were a mystery to the brothers, Smecker had managed to learn that Dawson was planning on attending a charity gala to support the funding of cancer research. The gala was being held the next evening at the Harvard Club of New York City on west 44th street in Midtown Manhattan, and while it was nerve-wracking to think about being out in such a high-end, busy part of town, Smecker assured them, if they played it smart and stuck to the plan, things would work out just fine. The former FBI agent had already put a lot of thought into how he wanted this hit to go and he ran the plan by the three of them, listening to and working through their ideas and concerns.

Connor was quiet and distant throughout most of the planning process, which was unusual for him considering making plans was normally his forte, and Murphy found himself watching his brother curiously off and on throughout the afternoon.

It was decided that the brothers would walk the six blocks into the next neighborhood over from their apartment where they would find a car that Smecker was going to have waiting for them. From there they would drive, taking as many back streets as possible, to Midtown and park a half a block down the street in the parking garage for the Hippodrome building, which was nothing but 19 floors of office space for rent. Smecker managed to get them pictures, as well as the license plate of Dawson's limo, and they were going to sneak into the valet parking area for the Harvard Club and take out the man's driver, using non-lethal methods of course. That part was going to be a bit tricky as there was sure to be some form of security on the premises, but Smecker was confident they could pull it off. After that, it was only a matter of waiting for Dawson to call his driver to pick him up. Murphy would drive while Connor waited in the back and the motherfucker wouldn't even realize until they were well on their way that his limo had become his hearse.

It was expected that at that time of night, the Hippodrome building would be fairly quiet and the plan was to drive the limo back to the parking garage where they would finish their task and make a quick break in the car they had left there. Once they made their way back to Brooklyn, they would leave the car in the neighborhood they picked it up in and walk back to the apartment. It wouldn't take long with the use of traffic cameras for the authorities to connect the car to Dawson's killers and Smecker promised to take care of having the vehicle dumped. It was registered under one of his many identities he had made up for purposes such as these and no one would be able to trace it back to a real person.

"How do you boys feel about this?" Smecker asked once they had worked through all the details.

Murphy nodded. "We'll make it work." He spoke with more confidence than he felt. He knew how much easier this job would be with a third person. If Edwards could drive the car then they wouldn't have to worry about parking and walking or trying to make it back to the car afterwards, the kid could just pick them up wherever they needed him. But Murphy knew that even suggesting it would set his brother off so he left it alone. Looking over at his twin, he saw Connor staring down at the maps spread out on the coffee table, lost in his own thoughts with a frown on his face.

"What do you think, Connor?" Murphy asked. His brother didn't respond and Murphy nudged him with his knee, knocking him out of his thoughts. "Connor?"

"Hmm?" Connor was surprised to look up and see that everyone seemed to be waiting on him for some sort of response. He had been so distracted with plan making of his own that he had completely zoned out of the conversation around him. "What?"

"The plan?" Murphy repeated. "What do you think?"

"Right." Connor sat back, running a hand through his hair. "Um, aye, it sounds like it'll work just fine." The lie tasted horrible coming from his mouth but he did his best to shove his guilt aside.

Murphy narrowed his eyes at his brother, trying to figure out what the fuck was going through his head. It wasn't like him to space out so much, especially during a planning session. "Ya sure? Ya don't want to add some rope in there anywhere?" he asked, attempting to use humor to get his twin to open up a bit. His efforts were rewarded with Connor's middle finger in his face and Murphy slapped his hand away.

"Alright then," Smecker began, pulling their attention back to him, "on to the next order of business." Reaching into the messenger bag he had brought along with him, he pulled out a thin binder and passed it off to Connor. "Look through this real quick and see if you recognize any of these men. These are all the guys in our system that can be traced back to Dawson in one way or another. There aren't a lot of them there so hopefully one of them is your man."

Connor quickly flipped through the first couple of pages before coming to a stop. "This guy here." He passed the open binder back to Smecker. "He looks younger in that picture but that's definitely him."

"Graham Dowell," Smecker read the name aloud. "He only has one prior for possession with intent to distribute and that was a good ten years ago. We've got a file on him because he was a known associate of Dawson's a few years ago, back when he was under FBI investigation." He closed the binder with a sigh before turning serious eyes onto Connor. "Let's get through tomorrow night and we'll go from there, okay? I know you want to take this guy out, but I'm more concerned with getting you guys safely out of the city. I don't feel like testing the boundaries of your Irish luck."

Connor didn't look happy but nodded along anyway.

Smecker began gathering his things, shoving everything but the street maps into his bag before gaining his feet. "I'll have eyes on Dawson tomorrow. Stand by until you hear from me, I'll let you know when it's time to head out." He made eye contact with both brothers waiting for their acknowledgment before disappearing out the door.

Once Smecker was gone, Edwards, who had been rather helpful in working up their strategy despite his obvious displeasure at being left behind, stood from his seat claiming he was going to take a shower. Murphy lit a cigarette, and relaxed back into the couch. He smoked silently for several minutes, watching as his brother continued to pore over the street maps Smecker had left on the table. "It's a good plan, I don't think you need to be worried," he said after a bit. "Everything's going to work out just fine," He offered reassuringly, hoping it was simply nerves that had his twin out of sorts.

Connor looked over at his brother and shook his head as he reached for his own smoke. "I'm not worried."

"Then what the fuck's wrong with you? You hardly said five words during all that."

Connor shrugged. "Just thinking is all. After the way things went down last time, I want to make sure we do this right."

Murphy leaned forward, putting his cigarette out before laying a hand on his twin's shoulder. "We're gonna do this fucker right," was all he said before standing stiffly to his feet and heading toward the back of the apartment.

Connor watched his brother walk down the hall with a heavy limp and shook his head to himself. He was in no fucking shape to be out there. _Which is why he isn't going out there._

Connor turned his attention back to the maps, tracing his finger along the paper as he continued to plot routes and work up a strategy that he would be able to pull off on his own. Smecker's plan was good, but it was put together with the idea that both him and Murphy would be there. Connor wouldn't be able to do it alone and alone was what he needed to be.

/ / /

The next twenty-four hours crawled by in a blur of gun cleaning, chain smoking, and anxious pacing on Murphy's part. Edwards had remained quiet and standoffish most of the day and Connor seemed unusually withdrawn and jittery. Murphy was always the one who had a hard time dealing with his nerves and he watched curiously as his brother sat on the couch, bouncing his leg and flicking his lighter open, lighting the flame then closing it again. He knew his twin was worried about him. His close call a few days ago had rattled Connor more than normal and Murphy chalked his brother's behavior up to his recent insecurities. Although, in the last three days that they had been confined to the apartment, Connor seemed to have slept more than he had in the last month and that gave Murphy hope. Maybe things were on their way to returning to normal.

When 8 pm rolled around, it found Connor and Murphy sitting quietly at the kitchen table, their duffels packed and their cell phone sitting in-between them. They chatted quietly off and on until finally, at 8:30, the phone began vibrating loudly against the table. Both brothers reached for it at the same time but Connor was quicker, snatching it out from under his twin's hand.

"Hello?" he answered shortly.

 _"You boys ready?"_

"Aye." Connor looked up at Murphy's expectant face.

 _"Good, everything's in place, give it one more hour then get on your way. Call me as soon as it's done."_

"Aye." He waited for the click indicating Smecker had ended the call but didn't lower the phone from his ear. Putting on his acting face, he stood from his chair, looking upset as he paced across the kitchen. "What the fuck for?" he growled angrily into the quiet receiver.

Murphy stood up along with his brother, his brows furrowed. "What the fuck's going on?"

Connor held up a finger asking for silence before speaking into the quiet phone again. "We were supposed to get this fucking done tonight! We can't fucking wait any longer, Smecker." He was quiet for a few seconds, pretending that he was listening to the man that was no longer on the other end. Sighing he nodded and made a show of running his hand through his hair before dragging it over his face. "Aye, fine, I'll fucking tell them." Silence. "Alright, bye." Slamming the phone shut, he tossed it onto the table in mock anger.

"What the fuck?" Murphy demanded, glancing over at Edwards who had been drawn in by the raised voices.

"He fucking called it off," he explained furiously. "Didn't give any details, just said that the plans had changed. Said he would be by tomorrow to work something else out."

Using his good leg, Murphy kicked his chair hard into the kitchen wall, swearing loudly. "This is fucking bullshit. We should just fucking go get it done now! We can find this motherfucker and put a bullet in his head. Problem fucking solved!"

Connor grabbed his twin by the shoulder and turned him so they were facing each other. He could see the seriousness in Murphy's eyes and gave him a shake, trying to break through his brother's rapidly rising temper. "Don't be fucking stupid, Murph. We just have to wait a little longer. It sucks, but Smecker'll be by tomorrow and we'll work something out, aye?"

Murphy nodded but didn't look any happier. Stripping off his coat, he tossed it over his duffle bag before pulling out his smokes and lighting one up.

"He didn't say anything about why he called it off?" Edwards asked from the doorway.

Connor shook his head. "Just said that things had changed, making our existing plan impossible."

Edwards nodded but Murphy scoffed, still fuming to himself. "What the fuck ever," he growled, throwing his burning cigarette into the sink. "I'm gonna go lay down, close my eyes for a bit. Being trapped in this apartment is giving me a fucking headache."

Connor watched his brother storm out of the kitchen but didn't stop him. He was relieved to have him out of the way. Now he only had to worry about Edwards who had already left, returning to his seat on the couch.

Connor stood there for a moment longer, swallowing the guilt that he felt bubbling up, before peeking out in the living room at the young man. The kid was relaxed back into his seat, focused on the TV playing quietly in the corner. Reaching into the refrigerator, Connor pulled out two beers from their dwindling supply and set them on the counter. Popping the top on both of them, he reached into his pocket and removed the small pill bottle he had been keeping there. _Eszopiclone._ Twisting the lid off, he shook out four little pills into his hand and hesitated momentarily before pushing on. Using a spoon, he crushed the pills into a powder and dumped it into one of the bottles of beer, watching as it fizzled and dissolved. The dosage was quite a bit stronger than what was recommended but he needed this to work.

Taking a deep breath, he walked, beer in each hand, out to the living room. "Here," he said, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. "Have a beer with me, kid." He held one of the bottles out to Edwards, careful to be sure it was the right one.

Edwards looked over, considering the older man for a moment before taking the proffered bottle with a nod. "Thanks."

They sat in an awkward silence for the next twenty minutes, each sipping slowly from their bottles, before Connor finally spoke. "I know you haven't been very happy with me lately," he began slowly. "And I know that there is nothing I can say that will justify my actions to you, but no matter how fucking pissed you may be, I hope you can understand that I'm only doing what I have to do to keep you and Murphy safe. It has nothing to do with you being able to handle yourself cause I know that you're more than capable. You've proven that you can keep your head in a tough spot and I trust you. After everything you've done for us, everything you've given up for us, I respect the hell outta you, Josh. That's why I have to do this."

Edwards kept his gaze on his half empty beer, his fingers working on peeling the label before taking another giant swig, draining his bottle. Connor's words meant a lot to him and his heart swelled with pride, but it didn't excuse him from trying to shut everyone out. "I understand why you're doing this, Connor, but that doesn't mean you're right." He frowned as he thought about what he wanted to say, but his mind was beginning to feel sluggish. "I get that you want to protect the people you care about but… but we care about you, too." He was starting to slur his words and he shook his head, looking at the empty bottle in his hands. He knew he was a bit of a lightweight, but damn. It was only one drink, why was his head swimming?

"You alright, kid?" Connor saw the look of confusion on the young man's face and felt pang of guilt.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good, I just..." He set the bottle aside and let his head fall into his hands. "I'm just…I'm fine."

"You don't look too good, why don't you lay down for a bit." Connor moved out of the way, motioning for Edwards to put his feet up on the couch, but young man shook his head, trying to stand instead.

"Nah, I'm good… I just need to get up for a minute." His attempts nearly ended with him sprawled on the floor and he sent several of the items covering the coffee table crashing to the floor as he tried to catch himself.

Connor jumped forward, reaching out for him. "Alright, just lay the fuck down, aye? Take it easy."

He accepted Connor's help back onto the couch and collapsed heavily onto the cushions. Looking up, Edwards could see the guilt in Connor's eyes and everything seemed to click into place. "Connor, what did you do?"

The accusation in the kid's voice tore at him and Connor had to look away. "I'm just trying to protect you both. Everything's going to be fine."

Edwards shook his head, his eyelids growing heavy. "Smecker didn't… he didn't call it off did he?"

"Everything's gonna be fine," he repeated, sliding a pillow behind the young man's head. "I'll be back before you wake up."

Edwards' eyes closed involuntarily as he drifted off, a protest on his lips, and Connor reached a hand down to check the kid's pulse. He panicked momentarily at the thought that maybe he had given him too much. He hadn't expected it to work that fast or come on so strong but Edward's heartbeat was strong and steady beneath his fingers.

Without another thought, Connor jumped to his feet, walking quickly back into the kitchen. He slid his coat back on, along with a black stocking hat and gloves, and picked up his awaiting duffle bag before heading toward the front door. He paused at the threshold, taking a quick look back around the quiet apartment before slipping silently into the hallway, allowing the door to close lightly behind him.

 _Chapter revised 11/13/17_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

" _I'll take Bryan."_

" _I want Connor."_

" _Finnian."_

" _Keiran."_

" _Desomond."_

" _Fergus."_

 _Murphy stood amongst the rapidly thinning group of boys in the large field behind their school, watching as the two team-leaders took turns selecting their players from the kids that had gathered, all looking to play a game of football. Connor, of course, had been one of the first chosen and his brother met his eyes from where he now stood next to the rest of his quickly developing team. He gave Murphy a nod of encouragement to which Murphy answered with an eye roll and a shake of his head. Connor had hit a growth spurt the season before, making him one of the tallest kids in their age group and one of the most popular choices when it came time for picking teams. While at thirteen, Murphy still lagged behind in the growth department. It didn't matter that, whatever Murphy lacked in size, he more than made up for in his spirited and feisty nature, or that his scrawny build enabled him to be quick and maneuverable, no one seemed to want him on their team. It wasn't personal, it was just football, and football was something they took very seriously._

" _Aidan."_

" _Lee."_

" _Alright, boys, those're our teams. Let's fucking play!"_

 _The kids around him rushed out to the field with a cheer but Connor lagged behind, watching as Murphy walked away with the rest of the boys who didn't get picked. His brother had his head hung low as he trudged across the green field toward the road that would take him home and without thinking, Connor began walking off after him._

" _Hey, MacManus, where the fuck are you goin'?" Patrick, the captain of Connor's team called after him._

 _Connor didn't respond as he continued across the field, focused on catching up with his twin. He only made it a few more steps before he felt someone at his elbow, pulling him to a stop._

" _MacManus, what the fuck? Come on, man, let's fucking play!" Patrick began trying to pull him back to where the other boys were waiting on them to start but Connor yanked out of his grip._

" _Sorry, Pat, gotta go. Surely you can find someone to take my spot, aye?"_

 _Patrick reached out, snagging Connor's arm again and pulling him back around to face him. "C'mon, Connor, we can fucking beat these guys, but we need you on our team, you're the best midfielder we got. Don't you want to get Bryan back for that sliding tackle the dirty bastard dealt ya last week? Let your brother worry about himself for the afternoon, you're not his fucking nanny, he'll be fine."_

 _Connor once again pulled his arm away from the other boys grasp, backing away a step. "I've got to go, I'm sorry."_

" _Why? Is Murphy such a pussy that he's too scared to walk home on his own? Does he need you to hold his hand, too?"_

 _At that, Connor gave Patrick a rough shove, holding his finger up as a warning. "You better watch your fucking mouth, Patrick. You won't get another warning."_

 _Patrick held his hands out in surrender, not wanting to start an actual fight. He was just trying to get the other boy riled up a bit, but he knew that once he brought Murphy into it he had pushed too far. Everyone knew that, if you messed with one MacManus, you messed with both, and getting in a fight with Connor wasn't something he wanted to do, especially if he was defending his brother. "Alright, fine then, no worries. I'll just get Doyle to take your place. I'll need you to play on Thursday though, you'll be here, aye?"_

 _Connor stepped down from his defensive stance, shrugging his shoulders. "Aye, maybe."_

 _Patrick nodded and headed back across the field to where the other players were yelling at him to hurry it up._

 _Connor watched him for a moment before turning back around and starting off in the opposite direction at a jog, trying to catch up to Murphy who was no longer in sight. He didn't spot his brother again until he was half a kilometer down the road and he slowed to a walk. He watched as his twin kicked a large stone in his path with enough force to send it hurtling deep into the green field along the side of the road. As he got closer he could hear his twin mumbling under his breath, muffled curses floating back to him on the breeze. "Murph, wait up, will ya?" he called, breaking into a jog again._

 _Murphy spun around, eyeing his brother in surprise. "What the fuck are you doing? Thought you were playing?"_

 _Connor shrugged, falling into step next to his twin. "Nah, my knee's still aching a bit after yesterdays game."_

 _Murphy narrowed his eyes and glanced sidelong at his brother. "You're full o' shite, Connor. I don't need you feeling sorry for me, all right? I can fucking handle walking home on my own."_

"' _Course you can, I know that, Murph. Just didn't want to play is all."_

 _Murphy stopped walking, causing Connor to turn and look back at him. "Why?" Murphy asked. Connor's face registered confusion and he continued. "Why didn't you want to play? You always want to play. You fucking love football."_

 _Connor sighed and retraced his steps. Walking back to Murphy's side, he placed a hand on his twin's shoulder. "Cause we stick together, Murph. And not just in football but in life. It's what we do."_

 _Murphy eyed his brother seriously before nodding and placing his hand over his brother's, which was still resting heavily on his shoulder. "Aye," he said, his face splitting into a grin._

 _/ / /_

Murphy awoke slowly, a smile still gracing his lips as he opened his eyes. He was surprised to see that it was still dark and he looked over at the digital alarm clock sitting on his nightstand. 11:46 pm. Frowning he sat up in his bed, his eyes immediately searching out his brother in the darkness. His twin's bed was empty which wasn't too unusual but there was a tingle in the back of his mind warning him that something wasn't right. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he paused, listening. He was met with complete silence.

Pushing himself out of bed he stumbled over to the door and stepped slowly out into the hall. As he passed, he noticed that Edwards' door was open, his bed empty and his uneasy feeling escalated. "Connor?" he called quietly as he entered the living room. Glancing around, he saw Edwards passed out on the couch, two empty bottles of beer on the coffee table and the TV playing quietly but no sign of his brother. "Connor?" No response. He ducked quickly into the kitchen long enough to see that it was empty before rushing out and back down the hall. "Connor!" He limped back through the entire apartment again, his heart rate picking up with every step. "What the fuck?" he mumbled to himself, trying not to panic as he re-entered the living room. Stepping over to the couch, he bent down, giving Edwards' shoulder a rough shake. "Kid." The young man didn't stir. "Hey, kid, wake up." He shook him harder and when he still didn't budge he tapped him lightly on the face. "Edwards!" A soft moan escaped the young man's lips and Murphy tapped him again. "C'mon, Josh, wake the fuck up."

He groaned, his eyes opening halfway. "Murphy?"

"Aye, where the fuck is Connor?"

That question seemed to wake something in Edwards and his eyes sprang to life. "Shit," he croaked, attempting to push himself up. His attempt nearly failed and Murphy grabbed onto his arm to stable him.

"Easy there, you okay?" he gave the kid a once over through concerned eyes. "You were sleeping like the dead."

Edwards shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face. "He fucking drugged me."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"He fucking drugged me! I think he may have gone after Dawson on his own."

As soon as the words were out, Murphy leapt to his feet and half hobbled, half ran into the kitchen where he found only one duffle bag sitting on the table. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out what that meant. Connor wouldn't leave without him. He wouldn't do that. He'd promised.

Murphy looked wildly around the kitchen, looking for any clue, any hint as to where his twin had disappeared to. On the counter by the sink, he spied a small orange prescription bottle and he picked it up, rolling it until he could read the label. _Sleeping pills? Where the fuck did he get these?_

Things were starting to click into place in his brain but he didn't want to believe any of it. Connor would never do this to him.

They were supposed to stick together. It's what they did.

Storming back out into the living room where Edwards was still sitting on the couch, rubbing his head, Murphy picked up the cell phone that was sitting on the table and flipped it open. He scrolled down to Connor's number and hit send, pacing while he waited. It only rang once before going to voicemail and Murphy had to suppress the urge to land the phone solidly into the drywall of their living room. "Fuck!" he yelled, scrolling back through the short contact list and selecting Smecker's number. It rang once before the man's voice came over the phone.

" _Is it done?"_

Those words alone told Murphy what he had been trying to deny to himself. Connor had fucking lied to him. "No, it's not fucking done!" he snapped. "When's the last time you talked to Connor?"

Smecker must have been taken by surprise by the outburst because there was a moment of silence before he spoke. _"I talked to him when I called to tell you guys to head out. Why? What's going on?"_

"Son of a bitch!" Murphy yelled up at the ceiling. The understanding that Smecker had never actually called off the hit tore through him and with it came a sense of betrayal so deep it cut him to the bone. "I'm going to fucking KILL HIM!" he roared. He let his anger out in full force because anger was currently easier to deal with than the pain of his brother's lies.

" _Murphy!"_ Smecker yelled on the other end, trying to get his attention. _"You have to tell me what happened? Where the hell is Connor?"_

"He's not fucking here! I think he went after Dawson on his own. He told us you called off the hit. He said the plans had changed, motherfucker lied right to my fucking face." Murphy pressed his palm into his eyes, denying the sting of tears threatening to develop. "I've got to go after him. I'm going to find him, then I'm gonna beat the fucking shit out of him!"

" _Murphy, listen to me."_ Smecker's voice took on a hard edge. _"Do not leave that apartment, you understand? You stay put!"_

Murphy scoffed. "Like fucking hell I'm gonna let him get away with this. He might need help out there and I'm not just going to leave him!"

" _You're not leaving him! He made the choice to leave on his own. Just please, Murphy, stay where you're at and either wait for him to come back or wait until you hear from me."_

"I don't know if I can do that, Smecker."

Smecker let out a frustrated sigh. _"Put Edwards on the phone."_

Murphy passed the phone off to Edwards and took off into the kitchen, heading for his duffle bag.

Edwards watched from the living room as Murphy yanked open his gun bag and started strapping his shoulder holster across his back. Putting the phone up to his ear, he cleared his throat before answering. "Yeah?"

" _Edwards, I need you to do whatever it takes to keep Murphy in that apartment. You can not let him leave, do you hear me?"_

Edwards shook his head and glanced back at Murphy who was now sliding his Berettas into place in his holsters. "That's not going to be easy, but I'll do my best. What are you going to do?"

" _There isn't a lot I can do. If I try and track him down, I run the risk of disrupting whatever he has going on. If he isn't back to you guys in two hours then we'll reassess and go from there."_

"Alright, I'll let you know if we hear from him."

" _Good."_

There was a click as Smecker ended the call and Edwards stood shakily to his feet just as Murphy was reemerging from the kitchen. He was making a beeline for the door as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his pea coat but Edwards stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Get out of my way, Edwards," Murphy growled, his hands balled into fists at his side.

"Let's just calm down and think about this for a minute, okay?"

"There's nothing to think about." Murphy tried to push past the younger man but Edwards pressed his hands into his chest. Murphy's eyes flashed dangerously and he shoved the kid's hands away from him. "Get the fuck out of my way!" he demanded again, his tone taking on a lethal edge.

Edwards swallowed hard at the cold look in Murphy's normally friendly eyes, but he didn't back down. "How are you going to get to Manhattan, huh? Are you going to walk there? On that leg? Because I can guarantee Connor took the car that Smecker left. And say you do get there somehow without being spotted, what are you going to do then? You have no idea what Connor is planning, he could be anywhere."

"I have to fucking do _something_!" His voice dropped slightly in defeat as he began realizing the complications of what he was about to do.

Seeing Murphy's eyes soften a bit, Edwards moved back in, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Look," he began, glancing at the watch on his wrist, "He's probably been gone for about two hours, now. If he isn't back in two more, I swear to you, Murphy, I'll help you look for him myself. I don't care if we have to steal a car, okay? I will help you and we'll find him. I promise."

Murphy considered the young man in front of him for a long moment before taking a step back, his shoulders sagging in surrender. "Fine," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "He's got two hours."

/ / /

Kennedy Dawson glanced around the lavish main dining room of the Harvard Club and had to physically force himself to keep the fake smile plastered on his face. He despised these types of things but he understood the importance of keeping up with his philanthropic public image. It was the best cover he could provide himself considering the dark nature of some of his other business endeavors. People were less likely to suspect the seemingly innocent, charity-funding, bright-smiling businessman of being the money laundering drug lord that he was.

Letting out a long sigh, he fidgeted with his cuff links before shoving his hands into the pockets of his tux. He was normally a very good actor, always playing his part spectacularly, but tonight his mind was on other things and he lacked the patience to pretend to care about any of these pretentious assholes.

"If you keep sighing like that, people are going to think you're not having fun."

A light, teasing voice spoke from his elbow and he looked down into Candice's sparkling green eyes. Dawson wasn't much for dating. He usually avoided any kind of deep emotional attachment for reasons he would never discuss. Therefore, when he was forced to attend events such as this, he simply chose to bring his assistant. She would keep track of any new contacts he met or business meetings that he scheduled and she had the remarkable ability to remember every single persons name. That particular skill kept him from insulting anyone he had met previously but didn't remember because he couldn't really give a shit.

Dawson let out a little growl before accepting the flute of champagne that Candice had carried over with her from the bar. "I would double the amount of my donation if it got me out of here right now."

Candice smiled up at him before taking a sip from her own glass. "I'll cover for you if you want to sneak away."

Dawson eyed the woman next to him, taking in her sleek, dark green gown that she had chosen to wear for the evening. The rich color accented her dark hair and emerald eyes in such a way that made him yearn to force her up against the wall behind them and take her right there. Candice was the closest he had ever come to caring about another person, and it wasn't even in a personal sense. She was smart and very good at her job. She understood and accepted all aspects of his business and when his baser male urges took over, well, she helped him with that, as well. She was a good fuck and she never tried to push their relationship past the simplicity of what it was.

"Maybe we should both just get out of here," he proposed, letting his hand fall to the small of her back suggestively.

She tilted her head at him in amusement but her response was cut off as the phone in her small clutch began ringing. The phone was in her hand in a flash and she smirked at him as she flipped it open. "Mr. Dawson's phone," she answered professionally.

Kennedy watched as her small mouth turned down into a slight frown and he groaned inwardly. That look meant more work for him. "One moment please," she requested politely as she pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed her hand over the receiver. "It's Mr. Dowell, he says it's important and it couldn't wait."

Dawson carefully schooled his features to keep the displeasure from showing. Taking the phone, he placed it on his ear before walking a few paces in search of some privacy. "Graham, there better be a good reason for this."

 _"I'm sorry, sir, I know you're busy this evening but we have an issue with the boat that came in tonight."_

"Oh?"

 _"Adolfo's man is refusing to allow us access to the merchandise until he speaks with you. He says his boss has some concerns he wishes to discuss before we do anything."_

Dawson rubbed a hand over his face, clinching his jaw in frustration. Adolfo was a new Cuban connection that was going to allow him to expand his operation in several new directions. However, the man was as paranoid as they came and proving to be more of a pain in the ass than he was worth. "Alright, tell the _Singao_ I'll be there within the hour."

 _"Yes, sir."_

Dawson quickly ended the call and walked back over to Candice's side.

"Everything okay?" she asked carefully

"Everything's fine. Although, I don't know why you seem to be the only one who can do their job without fucking everything up. Maybe I should have you do the hiring from now on."

She shrugged playfully at him and he returned his hand to the small of her back. "C'mon," he said, guiding her toward the groups of mingling people. "Let's say our goodbyes, I have business to attend to."

/ / /

Connor anxiously drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he looked around him, scanning the area from his parking spot on the side of the street. He kept himself hunched down in his seat, trying to hide his features as much as possible. He had parked just down the street from the Harvard Club's valet parking lot and had been sitting there for almost an hour, waiting for Dawson's Limo driver to make his move.

His plan was to follow Dawson back to his cozy penthouse suit in the Upper East Side, which he had already scoped out beforehand, and catch him by surprise in the building's parking garage. However, this plan was based off of the idea that Dawson would in fact be headed back home when he was done here. Connor hadn't exactly worked out what he would do if he went somewhere else. It was pretty much a play it by ear, wait and see kind of deal. Not his best work as far as plans go, but it was all he could pull off alone.

It was weird, being on his own. He felt his brother's absence like a giant hole and it was throwing him off more than he thought it would. He had expected it to be refreshing to not have to worry about anyone but himself. He had hoped that the paralyzing anxiety that had plagued him for the last two months would disappear but he was discovering it was just the opposite. He couldn't explain it, but something was speaking to him, warning him that this was wrong.

He tried not to think about what would happen when he returned to the apartment and Murphy found out what he had done. He knew his brother would be furious and hurt by his actions, but he knew Murphy would forgive him. He would just have to make his twin understand why he had to do it. He would forgive him. He always did.

Connor perked up in his seat when he saw a long black limo pass through the gated valet parking lot and he squinted, trying to get a look at the plates. As the car passed by him he read off the numbers and was relieved to see that it was a match. He was tired of waiting. Waiting gave his brain too much time to think and thinking was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

Turning the key in the ignition, he started the car and waited just a moment before slowly merging into traffic. He took a right at the corner and pulled around to the front of the building in time to see Dawson, followed by a dark haired young woman, entering the back of the limousine. Connor ended up directly behind them as the limo pulled back out into traffic and he cursed as he realized they were hanging a right onto 5th avenue headed away from the Upper East Side. _Well, there goes plan A._

He followed the car for a good fifteen minutes before he realized they were headed toward the piers on the Hudson River. He tried to stay several cars back to avoid suspicion but when they exited off of 12th avenue onto Chelsea Piers, he realized they were the only two cars on the road and he knew he would have to break away from them soon. Connor waited until Dawson's car turned into pier fifty-nine and he made note of the location before passing it up and driving quarter mile down the street to pier fifty-seven, which was utterly abandoned.

Pulling to a stop off to the side in the shadows, Connor threw the car in park and popped the trunk. Leaping out, he removed his coat as he circled around to the back and pulled his duffle bag open. He removed his shoulder holsters, which already held his twin Berettas, and quickly slid his arms through, feeling the comforting weight of his weapons as they settled against his sides. Slamming the trunk, he took off at a jog back the way he had come, slipping back into his coat as he ran.

A few short minutes later, he came to a stop, resting his back against a building just in front of pier fifty-nine as he tried to catch his breath. _Fucking cigarettes._ He gave it a moment before moving forward, sticking to the shadows as much as he could. His boots shuffled hollowly along the wooden dock as he walked and his breath ghosted in the frigid midnight air. He fought his body's urge to shiver and clinched his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering against each other. He never did like the cold.

Connor came to a stop when he reached the railing overlooking the boats that were docked at the marina. He was able to pick up the sound of voices across the water and he ducked down slightly, afraid of being spotted. A light was coming from one of the boats and he could see shadows moving around it, but he was too far away to identify faces. He would have to get closer. He continued to circle around on the dock until he came to the first row of boats and stopped, taking cover behind the first boat he came to.

The voices were clearer now but he still needed to get closer. One boat at a time, he made his way forward until he finally had a clear view and he was shocked to realize that the first face he saw was one he recognized. It was that Dowell fucker, the one from the warehouse. The man was standing outside of a medium sized yacht, chatting with two other guys who kept gesturing back towards the boat.

Connor instinctually looked behind him, ready to motion silently to Murphy, only to realize that he was alone. Shaking his head at himself, he pulled both of his guns from their place under his coat and waited. He knew Dawson was inside that boat and he was excited by the idea of getting to take out both of these men at the same time.

He spent the next thirty minutes crouched behind some rich fucker's fancy speedboat and cursed as his legs began going numb from more than just the cold. He shifted his position, attempting to find relief, but was afraid of drawing attention to himself. Slipping one of his guns back into its holster, he used his free hand to massage his aching knees before reaching under his coat to pull his gun back out. Despite his thick leather gloves, his hands were frozen from the cold and as he was removing his weapon, it slipped through unfeeling fingers, the heavy metal landing with a dull thunk against the wooden boards of the dock.

"Fuck," he hissed quietly to himself, quickly looking up to see if anyone else had heard. His heart dropped when he saw the group of men standing around outside the yacht, looking attentively in his direction.

"What the fuck was that?" he heard one of them say.

Graham shook his head, his posture tense. "I don't know." He pointed at two of the men standing with him. "Go check it out."

Connor swore again as two guys headed in his direction, guns drawn. His Beretta was back in his hand in an instant and he took aim over the side of the speedboat. He had blown his cover and he knew he needed to use whatever element of surprise he had left. Without giving it another thought, he opened fire, taking down the two men walking toward him.

At the sound of gunfire, everyone standing around outside the large boat burst into a flurry of activity and Connor wasted no time in starting to pick them off. He dropped two more who were returning fire in his direction and began trying to target Dowell who had ducked close to the ground as he ordered his men about.

A bullet whizzed past his head and Connor dropped down before popping quickly back up. He took a split second to aim before firing of a single shot and watched in deep satisfaction as the bullet hit it's mark directly in the center of Graham Dowell's head, dropping him to the ground.

/ / /

Kennedy Dawson was in the middle of a heated discussion with the man Adolfo had sent to represent him when he heard the gunshots ringing outside. He stepped over to the window of the upper deck of the yacht, and saw at least four bodies lying on the ground. Calmly reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cell phone a punched a few numbers before hitting send. Ever since these Saint fucks had started going after his business, Dawson took no chances, having the most trusted members of his private security team either following him, or in tonight's case, riding in the limo with him. "We have visitors," was all he said before hanging up and reaching for his own gun tucked under his jacket, just in case.

"What the fuck is going on? Did you bring this here to me?" the Cuban behind him asked furiously.

Dawson rolled his eyes at the man before glancing back out the window. "Calm down, it's fine. Just a minor disturbance, my men will take care of it."

"They fucking better," he spat. "The last thing I need is the cops showing up here."

Dawson continued watching out the window, unfazed by the man behind him. "Don't worry, I pay the security here a lot of money to keep things quiet." The other man began mumbling in Spanish under his breath but Dawson paid him no mind.

He spotted Graham on the docks below and watched as one minute the man was shouting orders to his men and the next he was laying sprawled flat out on the wood, blood flowing from a hole in his head.

"God Damn it!" Dawson yelled, squeezing the grip on his gun. The loss of Graham's life didn't really affect him on a personal level. He didn't give a shit about him in any way other than how useful he was to his business. Graham may have fucked up a lot but he was still a vital part of this operation. The man had given him incredible results over the last five years and his loss only fed Dawson's fury. This entire situation had gone too far. It was time to end this. He refused to allow these brothers to take anything else from him.

/ / /

Connor didn't have long to revel in his small victory as the bullets continued to rain down around him. He ducked back behind the boat and took a deep breath. There were at least two men still firing on him from outside the yacht and he had yet to see any sign of Dawson. He knew the motherfucker was probably holed up in that boat somewhere. He was preparing to jump back up and finish off the other two guys when he sensed a presence behind him. Bringing up his weapon, he turned but not before he felt the heavy weight of a gun smack him across the face. He fell back onto the dock and blinked hard, trying to clear the stars from his vision. Before he could register what was happening, another fist came down hard across his cheekbone. _Where the fuck had these guys come from?_

Rolling over onto his side, Connor made an attempt to get onto his hands and knees only to have a swift kick to the ribs send him sprawling again. A groan escaped his lips as he worked to get his lungs to expand and he was only vaguely aware as two sets of hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Connor gave his arms a good a tug, trying to break free, but his struggle was quickly put to rest when he felt the cold metal of a gun pressed against his forehead. He glared down the barrel and watched as the man targeting him removed a cell phone from his pocket and raised it to his ear.

"We've got him. He's alone." It wasn't hard for Connor to guess who was on the other end. "Yes, sir," the man hung up before turning a smirk onto his captive. "The boss man would like to have a word with you, which is unfortunate for you. He's not known for his forgiving nature."

Connor felt his heart rate kick up a notch and he began looking around him, searching for any way out of this. He spotted one of his Berettas lying on the dock about five feet away but the gun against his head made it impossible to try anything.

"Well, look who it is."

Connor turned his head in the direction of the new voice and saw a man walking down the dock toward them. He was about six feet tall with a strong build, black slicked back hair and large brown eyes that seemed to reflect the darkness in his soul. Although this was the first time they had met face to face, Connor instantly recognized this person as Kennedy Dawson.

Dawson stopped about three feet in front of him, looking him up and down for a few moments before speaking. "It's about time we met," he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "I'm Kennedy Dawson, the man whose business you've been fucking with. Which, let me tell you, you are seriously going to regret."

Connor stared daggers at the man before him. "I know who you are, you _motherfucker_ ," he growled dangerously.

Dawson nodded. "And I know who you are, Connor. Although, I'm kind of disappointed you didn't bring your brother along with you. It's Murphy, right? One of my men told me he was shot at my warehouse the other night. He didn't die did he?" His tone suggested he was genuinely concerned but there was a look of amusement in his eyes that showed otherwise.

"Sorry to disappoint you but he's fine. He's a tough bastard, you'll have to try harder than that to kill him."

Dawson chuckled. "Well that's a relief. I look forward to having him join us soon so we can test out just how tough he really is. You two have a lot to answer for."

"You'll never find him," Connor said confidently.

"No," Dawson scratched his chin thoughtfully. "No, you're probably right. I imagine he's hidden pretty well, what with half of New York's finest out scouring the city for you two, which is why you're going to tell me where I can find him."

Connor snorted. "Not fucking likely."

The man holding the gun against Connor's head lowered his weapon and stepped aside as Dawson took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. "Oh, I think you will. Graham told me that you had a third man working with you at your last encounter. That would be the prison guard they haven't found yet, right? Joshua Edwards?" He watched as Connor stiffened, confirming his suspicions. "That's what I thought. I've discovered over the years that the best way to get to a man is to use those close to his heart. Love is always a weakness," he said quietly before shaking his head. "Well, you can imagine how disappointed I was to discover that all of your family was in Ireland out of my reach, but not Mr. Edwards. No, it seems your little sidekick has a weakness of his own, a sister, Jennifer Edwards, who conveniently is attending NYU right here in the city."

Connor's face became a mask of rage and the knot in his gut tightened. He knew where this was going.

"She's a young girl, pretty girl, too. She's in her final year, about to graduate with a law degree. Her life is just starting. Surely you don't want it to end so soon."

Connor's breathing had accelerated and his chest heaved in anger. Dawson was going to make him choose and it was a choice that was all too familiar. It was a choice that still haunted his dreams. He wasn't going to do it again. He couldn't. Raising his head, he looked the man in front of him dead in the eye. "I'm going to kill you," he promised, his voice quiet and lethal.

Dawson took another step forward and rested his hand on Connor's shoulder. "Not fucking likely," he smiled, throwing the other man's words back at him.

Connor took advantage of Dawson's close proximity and, using the leverage of the guy holding his arms, he brought his legs up, kicking the man in the stomach. The two men standing by rushed forward but not before Connor brought his head back into the face of the man restraining him from behind. His arms were suddenly free and he dropped to the ground, crawling forward a few feet until he had his hand closed firmly around the grip of his Beretta. Bringing his gun up, he fired a shot at the guy closest to him. The man dropped to the ground, giving Connor enough space to take the only escape route available to him, the water.

Without hesitating, he dived in, almost immediately regretting his decision. The icy water surrounded him like a thousand knives stabbing him all at once. His body was too shocked to move until he heard bullets streaking through the water around him and he forced his limbs to start working. A sharp pain lanced through his left shoulder but he didn't stop.

"No!" Dawson yelled at his men as he picked himself up off the ground. "Don't shoot him."

The men lowered their weapons and looked to their boss questioningly. "Should we go after him?" one of them asked.

"No," Dawson looked out across the water, spotting Connor as he surfaced and continued making his way to the other side of the marina. "Let him go."

"Sir?"

"I want one of you to follow him. Make sure he doesn't see you," he ordered. He watched as Connor reached the far dock and pulled himself out of the water. "Let the little rat lead you back to whatever hole he crawled out of."

 _Chapter revised 11/13/17_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Connor was frozen. He wasn't sure how he managed to make it back to his car and he didn't remember much from the short trip other than falling down repeatedly because he couldn't seem to get his legs to hold his weight. He didn't think he had ever been this cold in his entire life.

Once he reached his vehicle, he removed his saturated wool coat and climbed in but found he couldn't even close his fingers around the key to turn it in the ignition. It took several minutes of cursing and shivering before finally, with the use of both hands, was able to start the car and crank the heat. He didn't feel alert enough to drive. His mind felt sluggish and confused but he didn't dare wait around and let Dawson's men catch up with him. He had to get the fuck out of there.

It was stupid. The whole fucking thing had been stupid. Connor thought that by leaving Murphy behind, he would be able to protect his twin, but because of his actions tonight he had almost cost them everything. Dawson wouldn't have stopped until he found where Murphy was hiding and innocent people would have paid the price. Maybe if he had brought his brother with him, Dawson would be dead right now. Or, maybe Murphy would have taken one of those bullets that were flying around tonight and _he_ would be the one to die.

Connor was so torn. He couldn't recall ever feeling this lost in his entire life. He had always had God to guide him but now he felt as if he was all alone. He had led himself astray and he didn't know how to find the right path again.

The heat from the vents began slowly seeping in through his wet clothes but it didn't bring relief like he hoped. He felt like his skin was on fire and the thawing of his frozen body only brought on a new kind of agony. It was excruciating but Connor used the pain to try and keep himself aware as he made his way through the streets of Manhattan on his way back to Brooklyn.

/ / /

Murphy limped across the length of the living room for the hundredth time, pacing the same line he had been following for the last hour. He felt like every step he took only fed the rage growing inside of him. Connor had lied to him. Connor had left him behind. Those two facts kept repeating themselves over and over in his head and the pain and hurt festering threatened to overwhelm him.

He didn't want to feel the hurt. Murphy had never dealt well with that emotion. He didn't like for people to see when they hurt him, choosing instead to just get angry. And fuck was he angry. He was beyond angry, he was fucking furious.

"You should come sit down, pacing isn't going to get him here any faster," Edwards said softly from the couch where he had been sitting for the last hour, watching as Murphy got himself more and more worked up. He had never seen the man this upset and as afraid as he was of the thought that Connor might not make it back, he was almost more afraid of what would happen if he did. _When, not if,_ he reminded himself. Connor not coming back wasn't an option. If something happened to Connor, it would destroy Murphy, of that he had no doubt.

"I'm giving him another forty-five minutes before I go hunt his ass down," Murphy growled without slowing his tireless pace.

Edwards nodded in understanding "I promised I would go with you and I will if it comes down to that, but until then, you should take a seat and save your energy. This may be a long night."

Murphy ignored him, continuing to cover the short distance across the living room and Edwards sighed. He thought about trying to say something to help diffuse the other man's seething temper but he had a feeling it wouldn't be received very well at the moment. Sure, Murphy was angry, but Edwards knew it went deeper than that. He could see the pain and the fear that were the driving force behind his fury and he knew there was nothing he could say to make this any better.

Minute by nail-biting minute passed and when they were only ten minutes away from when Murphy promised to go out and hunt Connor down, they heard the sound of a key in the door. Edwards sat up straight on the couch and for the first time since they found out Connor was missing, Murphy went still.

The door opened slowly and Edwards breathed a sigh of relief when Connor stepped through the opening, closing the door quietly behind him. He looked the man over quickly, taking note of the few bruises decorating his face and his soaking wet clothes. There was a tear in the shoulder of his shirt and he could see a hint of blood leaking from the area. Connor was shivering violently and his pale features and blue tinged lips suggested he was dangerously cold. Edwards stood, preparing to offer him help if he needed it, but stopped himself, hesitant to break through the stifling tension that had settled over the room.

When his twin first stepped through the door, Murphy felt a wave of relief wash over him. Connor was alive. However, taking in his brother's rough appearance, it was clear that whatever had happened, it had been a close call. That thought brought his rage rushing back in full force.

Connor met his brother's gaze hesitantly. They stood there staring at each other for a solid minute before Murphy began walking toward him. "Murph…" he began quietly, not really sure what to say. He could see the myriad of emotions swirling in his twin's eyes and he tensed, bracing himself. Connor had a pretty good idea of what was coming and Murphy didn't disappoint when he landed a left hook, his fist connecting solidly with his bruised cheekbone.

Edwards took a step forward in surprise but didn't interfere. He knew the brothers needed to work this out on their own and it wasn't like Connor didn't deserve a hit or two after the stunt he pulled.

Connor made no move to defend himself and Murphy fisted a hand in the front of his brother's wet shirt, pulling him back up only to hit him again. "What the fuck were you thinking?" Murphy demanded, shoving his twin hard against the door behind them. Blood was flowing from Connor's nose but Murphy didn't stop, bringing his arm back to strike his brother a third time, putting all of his hurt and anger into the punch. Connor groaned in pain and Murphy released him, moving back a few steps, his chest heaving as he glared at his twin.

Pulling himself together, Connor wiped the blood from his face before looking up to meet his brother's icy blue gaze. He had expected Murphy to be upset and maybe throw a few punches but he wasn't prepared for the raw emotion he could feel pouring out of his twin.

"I was only doing what I had to do to keep you safe. I'm sor-" Connor didn't get a chance to finish his apology before Murphy's knuckles cut him off again.

"Fuck you! Murphy shoved his brother backwards, pinning him to the door. "You don't get to make choices like that for me, Connor. It wasn't your call to make!" He yelled in his face.

Tired of the abuse to his already injured body, Connor shoved his twin back and pushed himself off the door. "That's enough, Murph," he cautioned, holding his finger up in warning. He was never one to back down during a fight, even against Murphy, and his pride wasn't going to allow him to simply rollover and accept this beat down. He understood that Murphy was pissed and Connor knew that he probably deserved the first couple of hits but he wasn't going to just lie down and let his brother kick his ass. "You're fucking upset, I can see that, but you need to calm the fuck down."

"Calm down?" Murphy asked incredulously, shoving Connor's hand roughly away from him. "You fucking lied to me! You looked me right in the eye and lied like it was fucking nothing!"

"I did what I had to do, Murphy!" Connor matched his brother's angry tone and took a step forward, invading his space. "I know it may not have been right and I certainly don't expect you to understand, but I did what I thought was best."

"Fuck you, you fucking left!" Murphy shoved him backwards and Connor held a hand up between them, trying to halt his twin's advances. Connor's attempts to pacify him didn't work and Murphy continued to move forward, giving his brother a hard push with every step.

Reaching down, Murphy roughly grabbed the wrist of Connor's left arm, holding his hand up between them so Connor's Veritas tattoo was visible to both of them. "So much for this, huh?" he spat before pushing his twin's hand away. "You lied to me and you left. Fucking walked out and left me behind like I was some sort of burden you couldn't wait to be rid of."

"That's not true!" Connor protested loudly.

Murphy ignored him, his anger too out of control to hear any kind of reason. "What happened to sticking together, huh?" His voice rough with the emotion he was fighting to keep at bay and he kept shoving, backing his brother toward the door. "Is this how it's going to be, then? Is this what we do now?"

One more hard push from Murphy was all it took for Connor's slowly smoldering temper to reach its peak and he lashed out, landing a right cross to his brother's face, sending him reeling backwards. In an attempt to regain his balance, Murphy stepped back, putting all of his weight on his injured leg only to have it collapse underneath him. With a small cry, he crashed to the ground, both hands clutching his thigh.

"Shit," Connor muttered, his anger dying off a bit as he stepped forward in concern.

Murphy held his hand up, palm out, warning his brother not to come near him. He didn't want his help.

"I'm sorry, Murph, but I told you, that's enough, now."

Pushing himself slowly back to his feet, Murphy stood squared off with his twin, breathing heavily as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

Edwards remained rooted to his spot, watching the confrontation with wide eyes. He didn't know what to do. He had seen the brothers fight with each other plenty of times, but never like this. Never with so much emotion and anger thrown in the mix. He watched as the two men stood, facing off in front of him and he fought the urge to get in the middle.

Connor watched his brother warily and held a hand up in a request for peace. "Murph-"

"No!" Murphy interrupted, not interested in whatever his twin had to say. A silence fell over the room and Murphy looked down at the floor, quiet for a moment before shaking his head. "No, you know what?" he began, his voice quieter, sadder. "Fine." He looked up and met his brother's confused eyes. "You want to be alone so bad, Connor?"

Connor shook his head, somehow knowing what his twin was about to say. "Murphy…"

"No, I'll make it easy for you. I won't get in your way." The anger and hurt were evident in Murphy's eyes as he turned from his brother to collect his coat and holstered weapons sitting on one of the living room chairs. He began walking toward the front door when Connor grabbed him by the elbow. Murphy reacted violently, turning back and striking his twin hard enough to send him stumbling backwards.

Connor righted himself quickly but Murphy was already walking through the door. "Murphy!" he yelled. "Don't you fucking leave!" His brother ignored him and Connor rushed forward, intending to go after him. "Murph!"

Edwards appeared at his side, pulling on his arm. "No, Connor, wait." The other man tried shaking him off, calling his brother's name, but Edwards held tight, eventually getting in front of him and pushing him back. "Stop! You can't go out there. I'll go after him, okay?" At that Connor finally stopped fighting and allowed Edwards to push him over to the couch. "My face isn't going to be nearly as recognizable as yours is. Let me go, I'll bring him back, I promise."

Connor nodded and watched as the kid ran toward the back of the apartment, reappearing with one of his guns which he was tucking into the back of his pants. Grabbing his coat from a hook next to the door, he slid it on and looked back. "I'll be back. Don't go anywhere, okay." Edwards fixed him with a serious look, waiting for him to nod before slipping out the door.

Connor watched the door close, leaving him in the silence of the apartment and he looked around the living room, his mind reeling from what had just happened. The pain he had seen in Murphy's eyes haunted him and, not for the first time that night, he regretted his actions. He knew his brother would be pissed but he didn't realize how much this would truly hurt him. He didn't stop to think about how many lifelong promises he was breaking. Murphy hid it well, disguising his wounded feelings with anger, but Connor could see through it.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he lashed out, kicking the coffee table hard enough to tip it, spilling its contents all over the floor. "Fuck!" he yelled into the quiet space. He felt his eyes stinging with tears as he allowed himself to collapse onto the couch, waiting for Edwards to bring his brother back to him.

/ / /

Murphy stormed out of the rundown apartment complex and took a left when he hit the sidewalk. He didn't have a destination in mind and these weren't the kind of streets you should wander around on, especially this time of night, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had to get the fuck out of there. Unfortunately, in his haste to escape from his tumultuous emotions, he failed to notice the figure watching him from a car parked across the street.

Murphy walked fast and hard and he felt his anger fading with every step he took. His temper burned like a matchstick. Once it was struck, it flared bright and hot, but it didn't take long before it expended itself. It sizzled out completely about eight blocks down from their apartment and he slowed his pace, meandering a few more blocks before stopping and resting his back against a building. He allowed his booted feet to slowly slide on the concrete until he was sitting on the ground and he hung his head, dropping his face into his hands.

Despite his lingering anger, Murphy was beginning to feel the first tendrils of guilt starting to work their way into his conscience. Connor was probably freaking out right now and Murphy was somewhere between feeling remorse for the way things went down and feeling like the motherfucker got what he deserved. His was beginning to lean more towards guilt. Sure Connor was an asshole for doing what he did, but however twisted his reasoning, his intentions were good. He wanted to keep everyone safe. That's what Connor did. It was why he was so good at being a Saint. His need to protect didn't end with family and friends. His instinct to defend was extended to every innocent soul that walked this earth.

Murphy felt a presence coming up on his right and he didn't have to look to know it was Edwards. The young man was slightly out of breath and he sank down the wall, taking a seat next to him. It was several minutes before the kid finally looked sideways at him, breaking the silence of the dark sidewalk.

"You okay?"

Murphy nodded but remained quiet.

Edwards let the silence surround them for a few more moments before speaking again. "So, where're you headed?"

Murphy snorted and shook his head. "You're looking at it."

"Connor's worried about you. It took everything I had to keep him from charging after you."

Murphy thought back to the terrified look in his brother's eyes when he walked out the door and felt his guilt kick up another notch. "Don't worry, kid, I'm not going anywhere." He couldn't go anywhere. Leaving Connor was never an option, it didn't matter what happened or how mad he was, he could never leave. "I just wanted him to know what it felt like to get left behind," he explained quietly.

Edwards hummed in understanding. "So does that mean there's a chance I can get you to come back to the apartment? Cause, I'm pretty sure Smecker is going to bury me alive if he finds out I let you leave. For someone with such a flamboyant personality, that man is damn scary."

Murphy chuckled at that comment, which he was sure was its intended purpose, and bumped the young man with his shoulder. "Aye, I'll come back, I just… I need a minute."

Edwards nodded. "Mind if I stay with you?"

Murphy shrugged as he began patting his pockets, beyond delighted when he discovered a pack of smokes in the front pocket of his coat. Pulling one out, he lit it up and blew the smoke into the frigid winter air, watching as it drifted up toward the handful of stars you could actually see inside the city. They sat like that together for a good half hour before Edwards spoke again.

"I bet there was never a dull moment with you two growing up together," he said randomly, his voice light and thoughtful.

Murphy huffed a short laugh and nodded. "Aye, that would be putting it lightly. Our Ma never misses an opportunity to complain about all the shit we put her through and what little hellions we were." He was quiet for a moment lost in some far off memory. "I can't imagine growing up without him, though," he continued softly. "He's not just my brother, he's… I don't know… he's a part of me, a part of who I am. If that makes any sense…" he trailed off, unsure of how to explain it.

" I think I get it." Edwards leaned his head back against the wall, his breath ghosting in the air as he looked up at the sky. "I was close with my sister growing up, I would do anything for her, but we aren't like you guys. I haven't talked to her in over a year," he said quietly as if that fact made him sad. "It must be nice to know you always have someone watching your back, to know you'll always have a friend."

Murphy looked over at the young man sitting next to him. "You got us now, kid. You know we got your back." Edwards nodded, giving him a grateful smile and Murphy sighed, pushing himself up to his feet. "C'mon, let's get back before Connor does something else stupid," he said, offering a hand down to help Edwards up.

Together they walked the ten or so blocks back to their apartment complex in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When they reached the entrance to their building, Murphy could automatically tell something was off. With every flight of stairs they climbed, the tingling in his mind grew stronger and stronger and he glanced worriedly at Edwards who seemed just as on edge. They all but ran up the last set of steps to their apartment door, which was hanging slightly open on its hinges. They both instantly reached for their guns. Murphy's adrenaline was pumping as he counted silently to three before pushing the door the rest of the way open and stepping quickly into the apartment, gun drawn.

The place was trashed. The coffee table had been upended along with both chairs in the living room, there were random bullet holes in the living room walls and there was a giant hole in the drywall by the kitchen door. "Connor?!" Murphy yelled, although deep down he knew he wouldn't get a response.

Edwards made his way to the back of the apartment, quickly clearing their bedrooms before coming back out to the living room, shaking his head. "He's not here."

"No, no, no, no," Murphy pleaded quietly as he felt the familiar sensation of panic starting to bubble up inside him. He looked around him at a loss; he didn't know what to do. He felt paralyzed. How the fuck did this happen?

"Murphy," Edwards called his name from the kitchen and Murphy looked up as the young man walked back out carrying a piece of paper.

Murphy took it with shaking hands, his eyes scanning quickly over the sloppy script taking up just a few lines of the page.

 _Saint,_

 _You're brother misses you. You can find him at the North Cove Marina in Manhattan, dock seven. It's a public area, leave the guns at home, I would hate for you to draw too much attention to yourself. We're looking forward to having you join us but don't take too long, you'll miss out on all the fun._

Murphy let the paper fall to the ground and his panic faded away, blind rage taking its place. He was going to kill them all.

 _Chapter revised 11/14/17_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Charlie Weston sat back in his chair, scrubbing his tired eyes with his hands. It had been four days since the showdown at the warehouse in Red Hook, four days with absolutely no sign of the MacManus brothers anywhere in the city, four days since he had slept for more than a few hours at a time. Leaning forward, he gripped the monster size coffee mug sitting in front of him and took a large swallow of the liquid that had been sustaining his sleepless nights.

"Alright," he sighed, glancing across his desk at Garcia who was slouching in his chair, looking equally exhausted. "I got the ballistics report from Kuntsler and it looks like we were right, the brothers are most likely working with a third person. They discovered bullets from three different guns in the bodies of the men found dead on the scene."

"Okay, so what?" Garcia retorted tiredly. "So they have a third person working with them, we still don't know for sure who that person is. It could be this Edwards kid or it could be someone who we don't even know is a part of the game. It doesn't change the fact that we have no idea where these motherfuckers are hiding."

Weston scratched at the scruff on his normally clean-shaven face thoughtfully. "Maybe, but whether or not this mystery person is the prison guard, there is still a very good chance the kid is hiding out with them."

"I ask again, so what?"

Arching an eyebrow, Weston shook his head at his partner. "Did you know that Joshua Edwards has a little sister?"

"Of course," Garcia said a bit defensively. "I did my homework."

"And did you also know that this little sister just happens to be going to school here in Manhattan?"

Garcia looked surprised for a moment before his expression turned sheepish. "I didn't know that."

Weston smirked at his friend. "Well, then it's a good thing you have a partner as thorough and awesome as I am."

Garcia rolled his eyes. "Careful there, Boss, your modesty is showing," he remarked sarcastically. "So, what now? We put a unit on her and hope he shows up?

Weston nodded. "I've got some guys watching her and I put in a request to have her phone tapped, which is something we should have done when we first found out about her brother's involvement. If he contacts her, we'll know. I also called her while you were on your last coffee break and she agreed to meet with us tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Why wait till tomorrow? Let's go talk to her now." Garcia started to rise from his seat but stopped when he heard his partner laugh at him.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Weston asked incredulously.

Garcia looked around the small, windowless room before tilting his wrist and squinting at the hands on his watch. "Jesus," he breathed, collapsing back into his chair. "It's almost fucking midnight." Leaning forward, he rested his elbows into his knees. "I need sleep, man," he grumbled into his hands. "I can't keep going like this."

"You can sleep once we've caught our guys." Weston sat forward in his chair and began digging through the mounds of paperwork covering his desk with a new energy. "I want to go over the evidence gathered from the warehouse again, I still feel like we're missing something big there." Garcia groaned but Weston ignored it. "If we can figure out who they plan on hitting next, we can be ready for them. I also want to go back through the recorded conversations from the men we found alive at the warehouse. There's something here, we just have to find a new angle."

"And you don't think getting some shut eye will refresh your brain and help you find this 'new angle'?"

Weston looked up, staring his partner in the eye seriously. "This is how we catch up, Garcia. They're ahead of us but just barely. If we keep working while everyone else is resting then we are going to get them eventually."

A knock sounded on the closed door of his office and he looked away, calling to the person on the other side. "It's open!"

Special Agent Kuntsler popped his head through the door and eyed them for a moment before stepping all the way in, closing the door behind him. "Figured you two would still be here. Do you guys even sleep?"

Garcia mumbled under his breath and Weston shook his head. "What can I do for you, Agent?" He asked, taking note of the thick file in the other man's hand.

"Nothing, but maybe I can do something for you."

Weston cocked his head to the side in curiosity. "What ya got there?" he asked, nodding at the file.

Kuntsler hesitated, looking down at the papers in his hand. "Maybe nothing, but… I don't know, it was just a thought I had and I figured you could use another lead, even if it takes you nowhere."

Weston motioned to the empty chair next to Garcia and the man took a seat, still clutching the file tightly in his hands.

"Well, you going to show it to us or just tease us with it?" Garcia snarked.

Kuntsler cleared his throat. "The thing is, I could get in trouble for giving you this, seeing as how there is really no connection between this and your boys. It's not even an active case file anymore."

"You must think it has some importance or you wouldn't be here," Weston pointed out, his interest piqued.

Kuntsler nodded, hesitating for a second longer before tossing the file across the desk. Weston picked it up and flipped it open, quickly scanning the first page. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw whom the file was on. "Kennedy Dawson?"

Kuntsler nodded again.

"As in charity giving, heart of gold philanthropist Kennedy Dawson?" Another nod from Kuntsler and Weston went back to flipping through the file in his hands.

"What could Kennedy Dawson have done to catch the attention of the FBI?" Garcia asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Kunstler sighed. "He's been on our radar for a while. We have evidence that suggests he's involved in the drug trafficking business, among other things, but the evidence wasn't strong enough to do anything with. We couldn't even get the case to go to trial. The man is good at what he does," he finished, looking angry.

Weston set the file aside and looked the other man in the eye. It was obvious that this case was personal for the agent. "So, what does this have to do with my manhunt?"

Kuntsler met the Marshal's gaze steadily. "Like I said, I have nothing physical that can connect Kennedy Dawson to the murders that have been committed by the Saint's since their arrival in New York, but I _do_ know both of these cases very well. I know what kind of business Dawson is into and I know what kind of men the MacManus brothers go after."

"New York City is full of scumbags, what makes you so sure that Dawson is the Saints endgame?" Garcia asked, not entirely convinced.

Kuntsler looked over at the other man. "That warehouse the boys hit a few days ago? It's owned by a company, some random shell corporation called Carver Technics. Shell corporations are a good way to avoid taxes, launder money and conduct underground activities without the risk of getting caught as most shell corporations are untraceable." Both Weston and Garcia nodded, showing they both understood the concept, and Kuntsler continued. "This is the kind of thing men like Dawson do to stay under the radar. It's why we haven't been able to get any of the charges to stick. This has his name written all over it."

"So you think the MacManus brothers came to New York to take out Kennedy Dawson?" Weston questioned, opening the file back up.

Kuntsler shrugged. "This man fits their profile to a T."

"Okay," Garcia said, "let's say they are after Dawson, how would they have gotten this information on him? I have never heard anything about this until right now so I'm assuming your investigation wasn't exactly public knowledge."

Kuntsler cocked an eyebrow at the man. "Do you really think the Saints are doing this alone? Marshals, there isn't a doubt in my mind that these boys have help on the inside. They wouldn't have made it this far if they didn't. I'm sure, with as familiar as you both are with this case, you've heard about Special Agent Bloom. I took over the Saint's case when she went rogue and turned sympathetic to their cause. And Agent Smecker, who just happened to be Bloom's mentor, worked the case back when the Saints first started killing back in '99. He was one of our organized crime unit's best agents and yet he couldn't manage to crack the case of two amateur vigilante killers? Please. And if you think they're the only ones in the Bureau to support their cause, you would be sorely mistaken. They're getting help, I just don't know who from."

"What happened to those two agents?" Weston questioned.

"Bloom's off the radar, she hasn't been seen in four months, and Smecker, well, it seems his drinking habits finally caught up with him. He died, liver failure about five years ago."

Weston was silent as he thumbed through the file, looking over the scant evidence that had been collected in an attempt to prosecute this crook of a man. "So what am I supposed to do with this?" he asked looking up at Kuntsler.

The FBI agent shrugged. "That's up to you. I told you before Marshal, this is your manhunt. I've put these boys away once already, it's your turn. I just wanted to bring it to your attention that there is a possibility that this is the man they're after. What you do with that information is up to you." Kuntsler stood, preparing to leave but halfway to the door he turned again. "Make sure you get that file back to me before you leave."

Weston nodded, watching the agent walk out the door before cutting his eyes over to his partner. "Alright then, let's get to work."

Garcia groaned and gained his feet. "I'll get us some more coffee."

/ / /

Smecker walked the length of his hotel room nervously, glass of scotch in one hand, cell phone in the other. It had been almost three hours since Murphy had called to tell him that Connor had gone AWOL and he had yet to hear back from him. Edwards was supposed to call if anything happened and he wasn't sure if the young man's lack of response was a good or bad thing.

It should have surprised him that Connor, someone who was typically a very rational and levelheaded person, would do something so foolishly reckless, but it didn't. He had seen it coming from a mile away. He had asked Murphy if he thought his brother was okay to continue their work without compromising the mission and the other man had assured him that Connor was fine. At the time, Smecker had been inclined to believe him, ignoring the red flags that were being waved right in front of his face, but now he was kicking himself for not intervening sooner. He should have inserted himself more aggressively in the entire decision making process.

It wasn't that he didn't trust the brothers. He knew they were both very intelligent and capable individuals but they weren't invincible and Smecker was beginning to think maybe he had forced them back into this too soon. After everything they had gone through, losing their father, getting arrested, the unspeakable hell that was the Hoag, maybe it had all been too much for them. Despite Murphy's eagerness to get back to work, there had been a reluctant hesitance in Connor's eyes, even before they left Boston for New York, and Smecker had chosen to ignore it in favor of his own impatience to get started.

Smecker had never served in the military, but in his profession, he had worked very closely with many individuals who had been submersed in the horrors of war. He knew the look of a man who had stood face to face with the devil, looked his greatest fears in the eyes and still managed to come out alive on the other side. Alive but changed. That was what he saw when he looked in Connor's eyes, a man being haunted by his ghosts.

He had hoped that the man would be able to pull himself out of it but that didn't seem to be the case. He had been counting on Connor's close bond with his brother to keep him from propelling himself over the edge, but apparently it wasn't enough. The man had pushed them all away, including Murphy. He had allowed his fear to take over and he was putting them all at risk by doing so.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Smecker halted his pacing long enough to reach into his bag on the hotel dresser and pull out a pack of smokes. He turned the small rectangular box over in his hand, contemplating the unopened pack before saying 'fuck it' and setting his drink aside long enough to peel away the cellophane, pull out a smoke, and light it up with a sigh of relief. He had 'quit' smoking years ago but it seemed the MacManus brothers were pushing him back toward the old habit.

He honestly hadn't been prepared for this. The last eight years he had spent planning for this mission and not once had he given thought to how this life would eventually take its toll on these boys. They had seemed so surefooted on their chosen path, but it seemed that somewhere along the way, Connor had taken a bad step and stumbled. They needed time. Assuming Connor made it back in one piece tonight and the hit had been successful, he needed to give them some time before dropping another assignment in their lap. They needed to be able to grieve and heal. Then, when _he_ thought they were ready, they could move forward with their mission. Things were going to be different next time around.

He knew that Connor and Murphy weren't the only ones who made mistakes since coming to New York. This was their first official mission together as a team and the whole affair had been somewhat of a trial and error. He had been slightly hesitant at first, trying to figure out what lines he could cross, especially with Connor, who always seemed to carry the responsibility of the unofficial leader, and he had been somewhat reluctant to butt heads with the strong-willed Irishman. He wouldn't be making that mistake again. They couldn't risk any more messes like the one they created here.

The phone in his hand buzzed, stopping him mid-step and he turned it over, his stomach clinching in anticipation at the name on the display. Taking a seat on the bed, he took a drag off his cigarette and flipped the phone open. "Murphy?" he questioned, exhaling a white cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

" _It's Edwards."_

Smecker could hear shouting and banging in the background and frowned. "What's going on? Did he make it back?"

" _Umm… yeah, yeah Connor came back,"_ he said, sounding distracted. The other end became muffled as if the young man were holding his hand over the speaker and he spoke again, his voice sounding far away. _"Murphy, we're going, alright? I promise you, but you have to calm down. Please, just give me five minutes, we have to let him know."_

"Edwards!" Smecker snapped, trying to get the young man's attention.

" _I-I-I'm here, sorry!"_

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded harshly.

" _It's Connor, we have a problem."_

"I thought you said he came back. Is he injured?"

" _No, well, yes he is but no, it's not that."_

"Then what is it?"

" _He's been taken."_

"What the fuck do you mean he's been taken?" Smecker gained his feet, resuming his pacing. He was starting to grow frustrated with the fragmented information that the kid was feeding him.

" _Kid, you're either coming or staying, but I'm leaving right the fuck now,"_ Came Murphy's angry voice from the background.

" _Murphy! Just wait!"_ Edwards yelled, sounding more assertive than Smecker had ever heard him before. There was a moment of silence on the other end before the young man spoke again. _"Connor came back about an hour ago. Him and Murphy got into it a bit and Murphy took off so I went after him, told Connor to stay here. We were only out for forty-five minute,s but by the time we got back, he was gone. The place was trashed and there was a note."_ Edwards quickly read off the message and Smecker felt his heart drop. This meant that not only had Connor failed tonight but he also must have allowed them to follow him back. Dawson had found them. _"We're going after him, Smecker. I'm not sure what we're going to do yet, but Murphy won't wait and I'm not letting him go alone."_

Smecker nodded, his mind racing a mile a minute trying to absorb the information and formulate some sort of plan. This situation was incredibly risky and the chances of it working out in their favor were slim to none. North Cove Marina was a very public place and the boys' pictures had been plastered across every major media source for the last two months. But he knew there was no use in trying to dissuade Murphy from going after Connor. Experience told him that there was no force on this Earth that could keep those two apart. They were going to stick out like a very sore, angry and heavily armed thumb, but there was nothing for it. Without Connor, there would be no Murphy, there would be no Saints, and there would be no mission.

Glancing over, he checked the alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed, the red digital numbers telling him it was now 2:55 am. New York may be the city that never sleeps but maybe, just maybe, tonight it will sleep long enough for them to finish this off.

" _Smecker?"_

The urgency in Edward's voice brought him out of his thoughts and he snapped to attention. "Yes, you need to go with him," he agreed, his mind automatically going into decision-making mode. "I'm assuming Connor left the car where he picked it up, you can take that. Grab everything important from the apartment, you can't go back there again. Keep you're phones close. Call me when you have him."

" _Okay, what are you going to do?"_

"I have some calls to make."

 _Chapter revised 11/14/17_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

To Connor, the concept of being alone was a strange and foreign thing. Starting from his very first heartbeat in his mother's womb, Murphy had always been by his side in either physical presence or in spirit. In the thirty-five years that he had walked this earth, he had never been forced to walk it by himself and he found the loneliness that was surrounding him now to be more crushing than the meaty fist that was being slammed into his body over and over again.

He didn't care about his split lip or the blood trickling from the cut on his brow. He hardly felt the abuse being thrown at his already battered body. It didn't matter. Murphy had walked out on him. He was alone and he was discovering that that feeling was more painful than anything his current captors could ever do to him.

 _'You want to be alone so bad, Connor?'_ his brother's voice taunted him in his head. The answer was no, no he didn't want to be alone. If this was what alone felt like then he never wanted to be alone again. And yet, if his choices were to suffer from loneliness or put his brother in danger then there was no choice. The only consolation for his empty pain was that at least Murphy wasn't here. Connor could take whatever these men had planned for him as long as he didn't have to watch his twin suffer alongside him.

If Murphy hadn't walked out on him when he had, then they would likely all three be here, wherever here was. About ten minutes after Edwards had taken off after Murphy, a heavy foot had knocked in the door to their apartment, followed by a spray of gunfire. Connor had still been sitting in a daze on the couch but he reacted quickly, making a grab for his guns, finding only one, the second having been lost sometime earlier in the night. He attempted to return fire but his weapon misfired, possibly as a result of his impromptu swim earlier in the evening. A small struggle had ensued, ending with Connor being thrown into the wall of their living room with a gun pressed firmly to his temple. Unconcerned with the threat to his life, he had continued to fight briefly before everything had gone black. Judging by his massive headache, it was safe to assume the bastard had hit him over the head.

A bucket of freezing water to the face had pulled him out of the darkness sometime later only for him to realize that he had been taken somewhere that he didn't recognize. He was seated on a chair, his hands tied firmly behind him, secured to the metal back of his seat. His current prison appeared to be an engine room of some kind and judging by the gentle rocking motion he felt on occasion, it was likely they were on some sort of boat. Although, it was hard to tell if the rocking was caused by being suspended in water or from the repeated hits to the head he had received.

After the shock of his rude awakening had worn off and Connor realized the situation he was in, he immediately began struggling. His captors must not have expected him to put up such a fight in his damaged state because they had made the mistake of leaving his legs free. Connor had struck out at the man standing over him, his booted foot landing right in the man's groin, dropping him to the ground. There were two others standing close by and they were on him in an instant, quick to punish him for his bold move.

The fists finally ceased their relentless pounding and Connor allowed his head to roll back. His own depressing thoughts combined with the vicious beating he had just received had sufficiently stolen his will to fight and he stared listlessly up at the white painted ceiling and bright fluorescent lights.

"Idiots," the man Connor had nailed in the crotch spat as he picked himself up off the floor, his face pale and sweaty. "Tie his fucking legs down."

One of the men came forward with an extra length of rope and swiftly secured their prisoners ankles to the metal legs of the chair. Connor didn't fight him.

One hand still cupping himself between his legs, the angry man stepped forward and pulled Connor's head up by his hair before punching him hard and letting his head roll limply to the side. He spat disgustedly on his captive before walking away, heading toward the steps leading to the upper deck. "I'll let the Boss know he's ready for him," he called over his shoulder before disappearing up the stairs.

/ / /

Kennedy Dawson leaned against the metal railing of the uppermost deck of his forty-meter yacht, puffing lazily on the cigar in his mouth as he stared out at the dark water of the Hudson River. After the debacle at Chelsea piers earlier this evening, Adolfo's man had decided it was too risky to bring their business to New York and chose to withdraw his deal and return to Cuba. Dawson was furious. It was just one more thing these brothers had taken from him and he was now seething with fury.

His anger was desperate for a release and his mind wandered to the man below deck. Half of the MacManus duo was currently taking up residence in his engine room and that knowledge caused his foot to tap with impatience. He was anxious to resume their conversation from earlier; that Irish bastard wouldn't be escaping him a second time. The only way that fucker was getting off this boat would be in the garbage bag they used when they dumped his body in the bay, but only after Dawson had made him pay for the business he had cost him.

If everything went the way he was hoping, then Dawson would have both brothers with him before the end of the night. If luck were truly on his side, then he might possibly even get the Edwards kid, which would please him even more seeing as how he had just sent out some men to pick-up the young man's sister.

Even if Murphy didn't come for his brother, Dawson would hunt them down eventually. Maybe he would remove Connor's head before he dumped his body and keep it as a souvenir to show the man's twin when he eventually caught up to him. As far as the Edwards girl was concerned, well, there were lots of ways to punish someone like her. He had gotten out of the sex trade business a few years ago but he still had old contacts and what better way to get to these men who were so concerned with innocent life, than taking one of their innocents and having her molded into something dark and twisted. He would keep the young prison guard alive just long enough for him to see the broken and used body of his younger sister.

A small smile curled at his lips as he lost himself along the dark paths of his revenge and he started slightly when a pair of slender arms circled around his waist from behind. He looked over his shoulder to find a familiar pair of green eyes staring back up at him.

"You're agitated," Candice stated, the concern in her voice mirrored on her face. "Tell me what's going on. What are we doing on the boat at one in the morning?"

Dawson turned around in her arms to fully face her but didn't return the embrace. He wasn't in the mood for her affections. "Just some business to take care of, that's all," he said gruffly.

Candice moved her hands from around his waist up to rest on his broad shoulders as she stepped closer to him. "Does this have anything to do with what happened earlier tonight?"

Shrugging the woman's hands from his shoulders he took a step back against the railing, distancing himself from her. "Yes," he said simply, feeling no need to lie. "Someone has been interfering with things that belong to me."

Candice allowed her hands to fall back to her sides, recognizing the signs that indicated Dawson needed space. She knew better than to crowd him when he was like this. "It's the Saints, isn't it?" she asked quietly, stepping up to the railing and looking out at the water.

Dawson nodded but the smirk that graced his face seemed out of place with his sullen attitude. "Yes, but its being taken care of. They will pay for their trespasses against me."

Candice looked up sharply. "You have them?" she whispered the question, almost as if she were afraid of someone hearing.

"Not both of them, not yet, but take one brother and the other will come to the rescue. He'll be here soon," he said confidently.

"And what do you plan on doing with them once you have them both?" Candice asked, although she knew her boss well enough to know the answer to that question and it wasn't an answer she liked.

Shaking his head, Dawson looked down at the woman. "That's not for you to worry about," he said a bit harshly. "We're going to be spending a few days on the yacht so you should take this time to relax. Leave the business to me."

Candice hesitated. "Kennedy, maybe… maybe you should just turn them in. Turn them into the authorities and they'll be out of your way. Why go to all this trouble? You're only putting yourself at more risk."

Dawson narrowed his eyes at his assistant, his temper flaring immediately. "They deserve worse than prison!" he growled. "They've crossed a line that they should have known better than to cross. I will use them as an example of what happens when you fuck with Kennedy Dawson!" Turning to face the small, dark haired woman, he took a step closer, using his presence to make her take a step back. "Why?" he demanded. "You don't feel sorry for them, do you?"

Candice quickly gathered herself and stepped back up, smoothing a hand down the front of Dawson's suit. "Of course not," she assured calmly. "I just feel like you're risking a lot for your revenge. You can't afford another investigation right now, your public image is very fragile at the moment. There can't be any slip ups." Dawson calmed a little at her explanation and she resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief, although, her argument didn't seem to be enough to convince her boss to rethink his plans.

"I'm not turning them over," he insisted. "But I will be careful."

Candice nodded but a throat being cleared behind her caused them both to turn.

One of Dawson's hired hands stood at the doorway to the outer deck, looking unsure if he should interrupt. When Kennedy motioned for him to speak, he took a step forward and said, "Sir, you wanted us to let you know when he was ready?"

Dawson nodded. "Excellent, I'll be there in a moment." The man left back through the doorway and Dawson turned toward his assistant who still wore a concerned look. "I have some work to do. It's going to be fine," he assured, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Take some time off, Candice," he said as he turned to walk away. "Try to enjoy yourself."

Leaving the woman standing alone on the deck, he walked back through the yacht, taking two flights of stairs until he was at the hatch for the engine room. Throwing the door open, he descended the steep stairs and blinked against the bright lights of the small room. Two of his men were standing off to the side, both shooting glares at the man tied to a chair in the center of the space.

Dawson took a step closer to his captive, noting the half-lidded, broken expression on the Irishman's face as his head lolled limply to one side. It appeared that his men had already had a bit of fun with him, if the blood and bruises were any indication.

Taking a few steps closer, Dawson stood directly in front of his prisoner, crossing his arms over his chest. "We meet again, Connor," he said loudly, startling the other man out of his daze.

Connor raised his head when he heard the voice but he wasn't surprised at who he found. He had known who was behind this and he only blamed himself. He had made the choice to try and go off on his own and he had allowed someone to follow him back to the apartment. This was his own fault. At least this time he would be the only person who suffered from his poor decision-making. Nobody else was going to pay the price but him. That thought was strangely comforting to him and he mustered up the energy to spit in Dawson's direction, glaring squarely at the man in front of him.

Dawson simply nodded at the disrespectful gesture. "That's about what I expected from you, but no matter, I don't need you to talk. I don't need you to tell me where your brother is because loyal Murphy is going to come to us this time."

Connor grinned defiantly, never breaking eye contact with his captor. "Not fucking likely," he said, remembering the words from their first conversation.

"Oh, I think he will," Dawson continued, unperturbed by Connor's confidence. "You remember Frank over there?" he asked, pointing at one of the men standing in the corner. "He's the one who brought you to me."

Connor glanced at the man in question and narrowed his eyes. He did indeed remember him.

"Well, I had Frank leave a note for your brother telling him exactly where he can find you." Dawson glanced down at the watch on his wrist. "If I had to guess I would say he'll be here within the hour."

Connor shook his head. "Wrong again. Murphy left me." The words hurt coming from his mouth but he continued anyway. "He probably won't even see your note, and regardless if he does, he still wont come for me." Connor knew that that probably wasn't entirely true. As much as he wished he could see his brother again, he didn't want him here. He hoped he stayed far away.

Dawson's face fell slightly at this information causing Connor's smirk to grow wider. "Sorry," he said, his tone suggesting he was anything but. "Looks like you'll have to settle for just me. But know this, it doesn't matter what you do to me, as long as my brother is out there you'll never be able to let your guard down. He _will_ come for you and when he does you will face your judgment-"

Connor's rant was cut off by Dawson's fist smashing into his face. "I think you're bluffing, Mr. MacManus," he growled, getting down into his captive's face. "I think you know that your brother is probably already on his way and that has you terrified, as it should." Turning away, Dawson stepped over to a briefcase that was lying on top of a table in the corner of the room. Flipping the locks on the case, he lifted the lid, revealing a large selection of shiny, razor sharp knives. "I have big plans for you both," he continued talking as he ran his hands over the weapons. "You owe me and I plan on taking my payment in flesh. A pound of flesh for every thousand dollars you motherfuckers have cost me over the last week. Sounds about fair, right? There won't be much left of you when I'm done, but I suppose that's kind of the point."

Connor felt his stomach churn at the thought, but he didn't respond. His head was swimming and it took all of his willpower not to throw up all over the floor. He had taken too many hits to the head tonight, making this his second concussion in as many months, and his body was severely protesting the recent abuse.

Selecting one of the larger knives from the case, Dawson walked back over to Connor, running his thumb over the blade suggestively. "Where would you like me to start first?" he asked. When Connor didn't answer, he slipped the tip of the knife under the man's chin, forcing him to look up to avoid the biting pressure. "No preference?" He cocked an eyebrow but Connor still didn't respond. "Very well." He let the knife drift down to the collar of Connor's shirt and added pressure, cutting the still damp sweater lengthwise. The blade cut through the material like butter and Dawson added just enough force to cause the smooth steel edge to leave behind a thin line of blood in its wake.

Connor hissed in pain when he felt the knife cut through the skin along his sternum and he began struggling against his restraints.

Dawson had only made it a quarter of the way through the shirt when the phone in his suit jacket began ringing and he let out an annoyed sigh at the interruption. Reaching into his coat, he removed his phone and flipped it open. "What is it?" he demanded. The large smile that split his face suggested that whatever was said on the other line must have been to his liking. "Excellent, bring her down." Closing his phone, he slipped it back into his pocket and turned his smile onto Connor. "I've got someone you should meet, Connor," he said as if he were simply introducing someone at a party.

The hatch to the engine room was thrown open and sounds of a struggle floated down to them before a man began to climb down the stairs. As he neared to bottom, Connor could see that he was carrying a woman, bound, blindfolded and gagged, over his shoulder. An empty chair was placed next to him and the girl was thrown, none too gently, down into the seat. Connor had a sinking suspicion of who this young woman was and his heart dropped in his chest.

Dawson stepped forward to remove the girl's blindfold and she flinched at the contact. When the cloth was removed from her eyes she immediately cringed away from the bright lights before looking around wildly at her captors. Her make up was smeared from where her tears had caused it to run down her cheeks and she was whimpering weakly around her gag as she franticly took in her surroundings.

The poor girl was breathing so hard that Connor feared she might hyperventilate and pass out. She was visibly shaking and very obviously frightened out of her mind. She turned her wide, terrified eyes onto him last and there was no longer any doubt in his mind of who this was. She had her brother's eyes.

 _Chapter revised 11/15/17_


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"So what's the plan here, Murphy?" Edwards questioned as they parked the car along the side of the road half a block from the Marina.

Murphy didn't answer as he popped the trunk and pushed the driver's side door open, stepping out and slamming it shut behind him. He hadn't spoken a single word since they left the apartment, too choked up by the raw fury that was coursing through his veins. Pissed off and angry Murphy was loud and explosive, furious Murphy was quiet and lethal. He was on a warpath and there wasn't anything that was going to stand in his way.

Edwards jumped out of the passenger side, following Murphy around to the back of the car. He watched silently as the man rifled through his duffle bag, pulling out an extra magazine and stuffing it in his pocket. "So… no plan, then?"

Murphy looked at the young man out of the corner of his eye before slamming the trunk shut. "We're going to get my fucking brother and kill anyone who gets in our way. Then I'm going to find Dawson and put a bullet in that _motherfucker's_ head," he said in a low voice as he began heading down the quiet city street toward the marina. It was nearly three in the morning and while the roads weren't empty, there were very few pedestrians about, making it easy for them to blend into the darkness.

Edwards quickened his pace to match Murphy's limping yet purposeful stride. "Ok, so, kill everyone, get Connor…" A brief silence followed as he trailed off. "You do know this is a trap right? They wouldn't tell you where they were taking him if they didn't expect you to come. They _want_ you to try and get him back."

Judging by the determined set of Murphy's jaw, he was both aware and unconcerned with that fact. "They want me? They are welcome to try and take me."

Edwards sighed at the cocky, overconfident, but typical Murphy response. "We need a plan," he tried again.

"I don't need a plan to get results. Plans are Connor's thing."

"Plans are my thing, too. I like plans, Murphy. Plans are good. Plans save lives. We need a plan," he insisted again, pulling on the other man's arm, stopping him. They had reached the outer edge of the front of the marina, which was lined with a large open esplanade. Edwards had halted them underneath the cover of a cluster of trees that rested on the edge of a nearby park, hesitant to step out into the open until they knew for certain what they were going to do.

Unhappy with the delay, Murphy rounded on the young man. "You don't want to do this with me, kid, then stay the fuck behind!" he whispered fiercely, his one-track state of mind combined with his fear and rage making his normally short fuse virtually non-existent at this point.

Edwards didn't back down to the man's misplaced anger, instead taking a step closer and getting into his face. "I'm not going anywhere, Murphy. I'm simply trying to ensure that both you and Connor make it out of this alive! That's all I'm trying to do. That's all I've wanted to do since the day I met you!"

Murphy took a step back, surprised by the young man's intensity and Edwards continued when he saw that he had his attention. "I didn't give up every chance I had of having a normal life just so I could watch you get yourself killed. I believe in the Saints, Murphy. I have ever since I was a kid and I'm not going to walk away, now or ever. I'm tired of you two thinking you have to carry the weight of the world all on your own. So set aside your damn Irish pride for just a moment and let me. Fucking. Help you."

Murphy looked down at the ground a bit sheepishly before glancing up at the young man standing in front of him. He regarded him coolly for a moment before nodding and offering him a half smile. "Alright then, what do you have in mind?"

Edwards returned the nod and clapped the man on his shoulder before stepping passed him to get a look at the quiet marina. "Ok." He glanced out across water, shivering slightly at the cold wind that was being carried in on the river. He remained silent for a few moments as he took in his surroundings and Murphy allowed him the time he needed to think. It wasn't hard for him to guess which boat was Dawson's seeing as how there were only two yachts at this marina and only one of them was being visibly occupied at the moment.

Edwards quickly scanned the rest of the vessels docked in the water and he spied a decent sized sailboat at the opposite side of the marina. An idea began forming in his mind and he looked excitedly back at Murphy. "How much do you know about sailing?"

/ / /

"Connor MacManus, meet Jennifer Edwards. Ms. Edwards, Connor MacManus." Dawson waved a hand between his two captives, introducing them to each other, although no introductions were needed. Connor easily recognized the sister of the young man he had been living with for the last two months and Jennifer had watched enough news, especially with her brother being involved, to know one of the Saints when she saw them.

The young woman began trying to speak around her gag and Dawson reached down to pull it roughly from her mouth, letting the soiled cloth hang around her neck.

"Please," she begged through her tears and shuddering breaths. "Please, I have nothing to do with these guys. Just let me go, please, just let me go."

Dawson bent down so he was eye level with the girl and ran a gentle hand over her shoulder. "I wish I could, sweetheart, I really do," he said sincerely. The man was an incredible actor. "But you see, this man next to you made a choice. He cared more about his murdering, thieving brother than he did about you, a completely innocent bystander, and because of that you're going to have to suffer."

Jennifer began shaking her head, her tears falling faster now. "No, please, please, please…" she trailed off, her words almost too slurred to understand.

Dawson rose back up and looked over at Connor who was growing angrier by the moment. "See what you've caused? I warned you this was going to happen. All you had to do was tell me where your brother was hiding and nobody else had to get hurt. You forced my hand, Connor."

Dawson stepped behind the young woman and ran his hands over her dark brown hair, letting them trail down her neck to her shoulders. She tried to jerk away from him but he held her tight. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" he questioned, still looking at Connor. "She'll fetch me a nice price." The shoulders under his hands began shaking even harder with unrepressed sobs and he returned his focus to the girl, bending down so his mouth was next to her ear. "You want to know what's going to happen to you?" he asked her. "Someone is going to pay me a hefty amount just so they can use your body for their own pleasure. You will be passed around from owner to owner for the next several months until your so used up that no one will want you. Then you'll beg for death."

"Motherfucker, get your fucking hands off her!" Connor exploded, his anger finally reaching its peak.

Dawson looked over with an amused smile. "Or what?" he mocked.

Connor simply glared at the man, knowing he was in no position to be making threats.

Dawson chuckled and shook his head when Connor didn't answer. Walking back out in front of his captives, he picked up the knife he had previously been using and stepped back over toward the man. "Very well, I'll leave her alone for now but I need someone to play with while we wait for your brother and the other Edwards to arrive so I guess I'll let you take her place for now. Knowing what I know about you, I don't think you'll have a problem with that."

He was right. Connor would take whatever Dawson wanted to give him if it meant he let the girl be for now. Jennifer's head perked up and her sobs quieted at the mention of her brother and she looked over, meeting Connor's eyes. He could see a mixture of confusion and fear in her gaze and he wished he could offer her some sort of comfort, but he had none to give.

"So, where were we?" Dawson asked, shaking his head as if he had simply gotten distracted from a casual conversation. "Oh yes, that's right." He lowered the knife back down onto Connor's chest and began dragging the blade across the small area of exposed skin.

Connor could feel the warmth of his own blood as it trickled down, soaking into his shirt and he clinched his jaw with a groan. The cold steel moved up to his neck, tracing his collarbone and he let out another small sound of pain when the razor edge dug deeper as it slipped off the bone.

Dawson withdrew the blade with a sigh. "I suppose I should start somewhere a little less lethal, shouldn't I? We have a long road ahead of us, I can't use you up all at once."

He moved the knife down to Connor's wrist and used the tip to slide the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbow, exposing the Celtic cross on his forearm. "That's a nice piece of art," he nodded appreciatively. "I bet Murphy has one just like it. Maybe this is where I should start, huh?" He dug the knife in along the edge of the tattoo, reveling in the sharp hiss that was pulled from his captive. Using his free hand, he gripped Connor's wrist to hold his arm still as he prepared to dig in with the knife in his other hand.

"Oh God…" Jennifer whispered next to them, sounding as if she were going to be sick.

Connor's stomach rolled but he braced himself, preparing for the inevitable pain that was about come. Dawson had just begun to press the tip of the knife hard into the ink on his arm when the sound of gunfire rang out above deck.

The two men standing off to the side tensed, both reaching for their weapons. Dawson withdrew the knife as he listened, a slow smile curling his lips. "Well, it sounds like we have visitors," he said, turning his smile onto Connor. "I knew he would come for you." Turning to his men he motioned toward the stairs. "Get up there and help them. I want our new guests brought down here once they've been secured, then tell George to get us on our way. I want to be out on the ocean before sunrise."

Both men jumped forward to obey and Dawson watched them disappear through the hatch before turning back to his captives with a smug look. He was opening his mouth to speak again when a loud crash vibrated through the entire boat, rocking the vessel hard enough to throw him off balance, forcing him to grab a nearby pipe to steady himself on.

"What the fuck?" he cursed, looking at the door leading to the upper deck. More gunshots could be heard combined with loud shouting and Dawson reached around to remove the gun he had tucked in the back of his pants.

As uncertain and fearful as Connor was about how all this was going to play out, he enjoyed seeing Dawson a little flustered. The man was always a picture of calm control, but the look on his face now was one of alarm.

Dawson cast a look at his two prisoners before quickly making for the stairs, intending to oversee whatever was going on above deck. He reached the bottom step before stopping himself, raising a finger as if he had an important thought. Turning around, he stepped back over to Connor and without warning, raised the knife that was still in his hands, plunging it deep into his left thigh, about six inches above the knee.

Connor cried out in both shock and pain as the large blade slid easily into the muscle tissue of his leg, glancing slightly off the bone. He thought for a brief moment that he may pass out, which at this point probably would have been a mercy, but he forced himself to remain conscious. He had a feeling that whatever was about to go down was something he needed to be alert for.

Dawson bent down to look into the pain-glazed eyes of his captive and gave the hilt of the knife a little twist, tearing another raw whimper from the man's throat. "I'll be back, don't go anywhere," was all he said before disappearing up the stairs and out the door.

Connor let his head fall back, his eyes pinched tightly shut as he tried to control his breathing. He could feel nothing but pain. His head was pounding, the fresh cuts on his chest and arms stung and the knife still protruding from his leg burned like fire. That's not to mention the emotional turmoil that was swirling in his mind at the moment.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice spoke quietly

Connor lifted his head back up, ignoring the way the room spun around him, and looked into the concerned eyes of the young woman next to him. He nodded once and mustered up as much strength as possible for her sake. "I'm fine." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before asking, "What about you? Did they hurt you at all?"

Jennifer shook her head 'no' but couldn't hold back the fresh tears that escaped, chasing each other down her cheeks. "My brother, is he really here?" she asked, her voice wavering with emotion.

"For his sake I hope not, but if he is, he may need help. We have to try and find a way out of here." The thought of Murphy and Edwards being taken by that mad man made Connor look desperately around him for a way to escape. The rough ropes rubbed against his already raw wrists as he tried pulling against his bonds, testing the quality of the knots. He fought against the restraints for several moments before finally giving up with a curse. His heart was racing and the exertion from his efforts caused his head to swim. A sound on the other side of the room caused him to raise his head and his eyes widened at what he saw.

Jennifer's hands were tied behind her back and her ankles tied together but they hadn't thought to actually secure her to the chair and she had managed to hobble over to the table holding Dawson's knives.

"There ya go, girl," Connor encouraged. "Can you use one of the knives to cut your ropes?"

"I'll try." She turned her back to the table and used her fingertips to pry one of the smaller knives out of its foam display. "Got it," she said after a moment. "My ropes are really tight though, I don't… I don't know if I can… move my wrists enough to cut them." Her voice was strained with effort as she struggled to find the angle needed to slice through her bonds and she hissed as the knife jabbed into her hand. She fought with it for a moment before she finally had it positioned correctly. "I think I can do it but it may take a few minutes."

"We don't have a few minutes." He could still hear gunfire in the distance as well as heavy footsteps on the floor above them as people ran back and forth, shouting. His adrenaline spiked knowing someone could come back for them at any moment.

"I'm going as fast as I can," she snapped lightly, looking up at him through strands of her long dark hair.

Connor simply nodded and resisted the urge to rush her more. He was impressed with how well the girl had managed to pull herself together to help find a way out of here. He almost smiled when he realized how much she was like her brother in that respect.

The sound of a gun being fired directly outside of the engine room door caused them both to jump and Jennifer looked quickly to Connor. A moment later, the door was being opened and Connor nodded toward the back of the small room. "Quickly! Hide!" he whispered.

Feet could be heard on the stairs now and Jennifer hobbled as fast as she could back behind some piping and other equipment.

Connor hung his head as the person descended the stairs, feigning ignorance to the empty seat next to him.

"Connor?"

Raising his head in surprise, Connor watched as Edwards jumped over the last step and rushed quickly over to him. The young man had his gun drawn and there was an unmistakable fierceness in his eyes as he took in Connor's injured body.

"Jesus, look at you," he whispered, his gaze lingering on the knife sticking out of his thigh. "Are you okay?"

"Josh?" A quiet voice spoke, interrupting whatever Connor was going to say and he looked up to find that Jennifer had abandoned her hiding spot.

Edwards spun around quickly in surprise, raising his weapon as he turned. The woman standing behind him was the last person he had expected to see and he let his gun fall back to his side in shock.

"Jenny?" His mind took a moment to catch up to what he was seeing but when it did he ran forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his sister. "Oh my God, Jenny, What happened? What the hell are you doing here? Are you okay?" The questions spilled from his mouth. Tucking his gun into his waistband, he walked around her and frantically began working to release the ropes that still held her arms and legs bound together. Seeing the knife she held clutched in her hand, he took it from her and easily sliced through the restraints, first on her wrists then her ankles.

"I was working late at the library on campus," she explained quietly. "I was walking home when I was attacked and brought here. I think he wanted to use me as some sort of leverage, but I don't know this man. I don't know why he would do this." The young girl's tears had started up again and once she was free from her restraints, she threw her arms around her big brother's neck and held him close. "What have you gotten yourself into, Josh? What's going on?"

Edwards pulled away and looked his sister over carefully, checking her for injuries or signs of abuse. "It's a long story," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "One that we don't have time for right now." Giving her a squeeze, he turned back to Connor. "I have to get you both out of here." Using the knife he still held in his hand, he made quick work of Connor's ropes, supporting the man until he was able to sit on his own.

"Did Murphy come with you?" Connor asked, his worry coming across clearly in his tone.

"No," Edwards said, looking him square in the eye and seeing the hurt that flashed in the blue depths. " _I_ came with _him_ ," he continued, smiling slightly. "Once Murphy found out what had happened to you there was no force on this Earth that was going to stop him. I simply followed him to make sure he didn't get himself killed."

Connor felt his heart swell knowing that his brother hadn't abandoned him completely, but it was quickly replaced with concern when he realized that it had been several minutes since he had heard any gunfire and he was terrified about what that might possibly mean for his brother.

"Murphy was in charge of the distraction that allowed me to slip in and find you." Seeing the worry in his friend's eyes, Edwards placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "He's going to be fine, Connor, but we need to get out of here. Can you stand?"

Connor nodded but his first attempt failed miserably when his leg buckled beneath him, sending him crashing back into his chair with a groan. "The knife…" he ground out breathlessly. "You gotta pull it out, kid."

Edwards quickly bent down, inspecting the area where the knife went in before looking frantically around him. Spying a bin of shop towels next to a large selection of tools, he motioned at them with a nod of his head. "Jenny, get me one of those towels," he ordered softly.

The young woman was quick to obey and Edwards draped the towel across Connor's leg in preparation before grasping the knife handle with a firm grip. Looking up, he met his friend's eyes for a moment, silently preparing the man for what was to come.

Connor gave him a short nod. "Do it."

Not wasting any time, Edwards yanked the knife straight up with one swift movement until it pulled free with a small sucking sound.

Despite Connor's attempts to remain strong and swallow his screams, a heart-shattering cry was wrenched from his throat. His world tilted sideways and darkness hedged his vision as consciousness threatened to leave him.

"Almost done, stay with me, Connor," Edwards encouraged as he tied the shop towel tightly around the wound to stem the bleeding. "Okay," he said as he gained his feet. Taking note of Connor's half lidded eyes and heaving chest, he quickly stepped forward and placed his hands on either side of his pale, clammy face. "Hey, you still with me?"

Connor nodded, allowing the young man's cool hands and soothing voice to pull him back from the edge of darkness. "Aye," he rasped.

"Good, can you stand?" Edwards desperately hoped the answer was yes, they were running out of time.

Connor's body said no but he gave another nod and attempted to push himself up. He was almost halfway out of his chair when the room began spinning violently around him and he doubled over, his stomach emptying its contents all over the floor.

"Whoa, alright, take it easy." Edwards caught him by the shoulders before he could fall and sat him back in the chair once more.

"Josh, we have to go!" Jennifer warned, reminding them that time was not on their side.

"I know, he just needs a second." He said distractedly, keeping his focus on the man in front of him. "Hey," he spoke calmly. "Open your eyes up for me. I need to check something." Connor did as he was told and Edwards swore silently to himself when he saw how wide his pupils were despite the bright lights of the room.

Connor knew what he was looking for and he also knew what he would find. "There's nothing you can do for that right now, kid," he said when Edwards' expression confirmed his suspicions. "We've gotta go."

Edwards nodded and stepped over to Connor's left side, sliding the man's arm firmly over his shoulders before pulling him into a standing position. Slipping his arm around his back, Josh helped support his weight as he led them toward the stairs. His sister quickly stepped up to Connor's other side and he was surprised when she ducked under his other arm and helped haul him up the stairs, one step at a time. She gave him a little nod and he returned it with a small smile. When they reached the top, Edwards removed the gun from his waistband before pushing the door open and leading them out into the cold night air.

The first thing Connor noticed when they stepped outside was the smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air. He remembered the big crash that had caused Dawson to leave them alone in the engine room and he glanced over at Edwards. "Exactly what kind of distraction did you use?" he asked, breathing heavily from their climb up the stairs.

"Oh, uh, we set the sail of a sailboat on fire and Murphy drove it into the yacht," he explained casually, as if it were an everyday event.

Jennifer looked over at her brother in shock but Connor gave him a little half smile. "That's pretty badass," he commented appreciatively.

Edwards nodded but kept his focus on their surroundings. Murphy was going to try and take out as many of Dawson's men as he could but there was no guarantee he got them all. He needed to stay on his toes. He was just getting ready to turn the corner that would lead them to the exit of the large boat when a man stepped around the same bend, nearly crashing into them. Edwards raised his gun to fire but the other man was quicker and he had his gun in their faces' in an instant. The entire situation was about to end tragically when a bullet coming from the opposite direction embedded itself into the man's head, dropping him to the ground.

Murphy stepped out from behind the corner and looked over the small group with wide eyes. His gaze came to rest on Connor first and the wide range of emotions that tore through him at the sight of his twin was overwhelming. He wanted to run over and squeeze the shit out of him, but he found himself glued to the spot. They hadn't parted on very good terms the last time they saw each other and Murphy would be lying if he said wasn't still mad. After he had discovered that Connor had been taken, his fear had taken over. All of the hurt and anger that he had felt over his brother's actions earlier in the evening had taken a backseat and he had poured all of his focus into saving him. However, now that Connor stood in front of him and his fear was allowed to die down a bit, he found that his anger was eagerly rushing back to the foreground, clamoring for his attention.

Connor watched as his brother remained rooted in place, seeming to be struggling with his emotions. He wasn't really sure where he stood with Murphy at the moment and he was uncertain of how to approach the situation. It hurt, being unsure of how to act with his own brother and Connor wished, not for the first time, that he could take back this entire night.

Murphy took a hesitant step forward and noticed for the first time how bad off Connor seemed to be. His face was a canvas of bruises, and dried blood crusted his eyebrow and lip. His shirt was ripped open at the collar, exposing a series of strange cuts, and his leg was wrapped with a cloth that was already saturated with fresh blood. His twin seemed to be unable to support his own weight seeing as how he was being held between Edwards and a young girl who he just now noticed was amongst them. He cocked his head curiously at her before returning his focus to his brother. Taking another step closer he reached a hand out and gripped Connor by the chin, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his injuries. His anger grew with every bruise that he saw. When he pulled aside his ripped sweater to see the long cut that ran the length of his sternum, he lost it.

"Where is he?" he growled, his voice low and lethal.

"I haven't seen him since I got on board, but I don't think he left, either," Edwards was quick to answer. "He may be in one of the rooms or up on the captain's deck." In the distance the wailing of police sirens lent a sense of urgency to their situation and he looked questioningly up at Murphy. "What do you want to do?"

Murphy looked over at Connor before fixing his eyes on Edwards'. "Get them out of here. Go back to the car and wait for me, I'll be right behind you."

"You can't go after him alone, Murph," Connor protested immediately, his protector's response coming out automatically.

"That's a mighty hypocritical thing for you to say," Murphy responded harshly, feeling only slightly guilty at the hurt look that crossed his brother's face. "'Sides, I wasn't asking for your permission." He turned his attention back to Edwards. "Go back to the car. I'll be right behind you," he repeated.

Edwards nodded in understanding. "Be careful, Murphy," he called after him as he took off in the other direction to find Dawson.

Connor wanted to yell after his twin but he knew it would do no good. Murphy wasn't going to listen to him.

 _Chapter revised 11/16/17_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Weston reached across the counter in the employee break room with a sigh, grabbing the coffee pot and pouring the steaming liquid into his and Garcia's mugs. It was his turn to make the coffee run and he couldn't say that he was too sorry about that. This was only the second time in the last fifteen hours that he had left his office and he knew if he didn't get out of there he was going to go insane. Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, he groaned at the digital numbers that flashed back at him. _3:00 AM._ Him and Garcia had spent the last three hours going over all of Kennedy Dawson's files and they were both beyond exhausted. Weston was close to just calling it a night and heading back to his hotel to try and recharge a little bit.

Letting out another deep sigh, he snagged a handful of sugar packets and began systematically opening them one by one, splitting them up between the two cups. A large yawn escaped him as he watched the powder dissolve in the piping hot mug and he shook his head, trying to wake himself up.

The door to the break room burst open and he jumped, not expecting anyone else to be here this late. Garcia flew into the room with more energy than he had had all day and Weston turned to him expectantly

"Boss, the scanner says we got shots fired over at North Cove Marina in Manhattan."

Weston arched an eyebrow as he stirred the coffee mugs with a spoon. "This is New York City, shots are being fired all over the place, what caught your attention with this one?"

"Guess who just happens to be docking his big fancy yacht at said marina," Garcia answered, not slowing down in his excitement.

Weston caught on instantly. "Dawson?"

Garcia nodded enthusiastically.

"That's a strange coincidence." Weston muttered, his thoughts beginning to move a hundred miles an hour.

"I thought you didn't believe in coincidences, Boss."

"I don't. Grab your things, let's go," he ordered, rushing from the room, leaving his fresh cups of coffee steaming on the counter.

/ / /

Murphy walked cautiously through the narrow interior hallways of the yacht as he made his way toward the stairs that would take him up to the Captains level. When he reached the door, he kicked it open, causing the frame to crack and splinter under the force of his thick-soled boot. Bringing his gun up, he quickly entered the large, spacious area. The room was dark but the large glass windows let in enough moonlight that he could make out the layout as he scanned the space for signs of his prey. There was a large couch off to the right and directly in front of him sat the helm of the boat, various colored lights bringing out the different controls and dials.

Very cautiously, he stepped further into the room, every sense alert to his surroundings. A small sound to his left caused him to turn, bringing his gun up with him, but he was too slow. The large form of a man came hurtling out of the shadows, crashing into him and bringing them both to the ground. Murphy's finger squeezed the trigger of his Beretta, firing off a wild shot as he hit the ground. The bullet went through the glass in front of the steering wheel and the man on top of him grabbed the wrist of his gun hand and slammed it into the ground, forcing him to drop the weapon. Murphy made a desperate reach for the gun, but the man that was now straddling his hips in full mount, punched him hard across the face before tossing the stray gun across the room, well beyond their reach. Ignoring the pull on the still healing bullet wound in his thigh, Murphy arched his back, bridging hard in an attempt to roll his attacker off of him.

The man on top clung tight and managed to land another punch before reaching behind him and pulling his own weapon out of the back of his pants. "I have every reason in the world to kill you right now," he growled angrily, putting the barrel against Murphy's head, right between his eyes.

The feel of the cold metal against his forehead stilled Murphy's efforts and he stared up at the man sitting firmly on his hips. A fresh surge of anger rushed through him and his eyes flashed fire when he realized the man holding him in his sights was the same evil man that he had come here to kill.

Dawson saw the fury in Murphy's expression and chuckled. "I've seen that same look in your brother's eyes," he taunted. Slowly gaining his feet, he took a small step back, keeping his weapon trained on Murphy's head. "You know, looking at your pictures, I didn't really see the family resemblance between the two of you, but now that I've met you both in person, I can see it. You have the same eyes. Especially when you're angry," he smirked, showing just how unconcerned he was with the death glare being aimed at him.

Murphy pushed himself up onto his elbows, slowly making his way to his knees. "You're a dead motherfucker," he spat, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth on his coat sleeve.

Dawson shook his head, a laugh on his lips. "Empty threats. What exactly do you think you're going to do? I have your brother, I have your sidekick's sister, and now I have you. One more person and we can get this party started."

Murphy snorted, matching Dawson's smile with one of his own. "You _had_ my brother," he corrected smugly. "They're long gone now, your men are dead and the police are on their way. You've got nothing."

The smile slowly slipped from Dawson's face as he looked for any sign of untruth in Murphy's eyes. Finding no evidence of a bluff, his expression turned to one of rage. His plans were falling through his fingers like water and he saw red. Raising his gun, he used it to viciously backhand the man kneeling in front of him, sending him crashing back to the ground. Rushing forward, he grabbed Murphy by the front of his coat, pulling him up and jamming the barrel of his gun roughly against his temple. "I might as well kill you now then, huh?" He gave Murphy a little shake. "I can easily talk my way out of this. Make it look like you and your brother came here and tried to kill me. Putting a bullet in your head was simply an act of self defense." He increased his pressure on the gun for emphasis.

As Murphy recovered from the brutal hit he had taken, he looked up at the man threatening his life and saw the madness swirling in his eyes. There was a darkness in his soul and an unhinged, desperate quality to his actions. This was Kennedy Dawson at his core. There was no mask.

"Before I kill you I want you to know that you've failed," Dawson continued, his voice shaking with fury. "You've failed in taking down my business, you've failed in this ridiculous, foolish, half-baked mission you think you're on, and you've failed your own brother."

"Fuck you," Murphy snapped, surprised by the guilt that he felt when that last one was thrown in his face. As mad as he was at Connor, some of his anger was reserved for himself. If he hadn't walked away, if he hadn't turned his back on his twin, then he would have been there when they took him. Murphy could've stopped this whole thing, but he didn't. He left.

"Yeah," Dawson pressed on, seeing that he was getting to the man. "You know, Connor told me that you had left him. He said that, even if you did find out what had happened to him, you still wouldn't come. He had tried to hide it but I could see that he was crushed. You should have seen the devastated and shattered look on his face, Murphy. It was the look of a man who had given up all hope, a man who felt he had lost everything and had nothing left to live for." Dawson knew that this wasn't entirely true but he enjoyed the grief-stricken effect his words were having.

"You're a lying sack of shit who has no idea what the fuck he's talking about," Murphy spat angrily, using his bravado to hide the sadness that he felt at the picture being painted by Dawson's words. As much as had didn't want to believe what the son of a bitch was telling him, his heart broke for his brother. Surely Connor would never doubt him so much as to think that he could ever just abandon him like that. Right?

Dawson laughed, the gesture only accentuating the crazed look in his eyes. "Believe me or not, I don't care. I just wanted you to know before I kill you, how thoroughly you've _fucked_ everything up." Using his grip on Murphy's pea coat, he held him up as he raised his gun, smashing the butt of the grip into his temple and letting him fall heavily to the floor. Standing back up, he raised his weapon, targeting the prostrate man at his feet. "Don't worry, I'll be sending your brother to you soon enough."

Lifting his head, Murphy tried to push himself up but his body protested the movement, still in shock from that last hit to the head. Knowing he wasn't going to be able to stop this, he closed his eyes and began to pray. He prayed for forgiveness for his failures and his sins, he prayed that Connor would know that he was sorry and that he loved him. Murphy knew that his death was going to destroy his twin. He knew that Connor was going to blame himself for all of this, so he prayed that Edwards would be there to keep his brother from drowning in the darkness. Then, opening his eyes to glare up at Dawson, he prayed that this man would get the eternity in hell that he deserved.

"Goodbye, Murphy," Dawson said, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Murphy closed his eyes and waited.

"FBI! Drop the gun! Now!"

Murphy's eyes popped open and Dawson froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Keeping his gun aimed at Murphy's head, he slowly turned his head to the side to look over his shoulder, his gaze meeting a set of fierce emerald eyes. "Candice?" he asked incredulously, noting the gun his assistant had expertly trained on him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"It's Agent Brooks, and I said put the gun down, Dawson! If you make a single move that isn't setting that weapon on the ground I will drop you, do you understand?"

"Agent?" Dawson laughed. "Is this a fucking joke?" He could tell from her expression that she was deadly serious and the laughter died on his lips. "That's impossible," he insisted. "There's no way you're FBI!" Even as he said it the wheels in his head began spinning as his mind wandered over the last several years the woman had been working for him. _It wasn't possible, was it?_

"I don't care if you believe it or not, all that matters to me is that after all these years, I finally have the evidence I need to put you away for good. You got greedy, Dawson. You started pushing Graham to bring in the bigger shipments and with your greed came carelessness. It wasn't much at first, a paper trail here and there, but over the last few years, it's added up. There is nothing that can dig you out of the mountain of evidence we have stacked against you. We were going to be bringing you in this week but after tonight, I knew it couldn't wait that long. You had to be stopped. Kidnapping an innocent girl?" She nodded at Murphy who was slowly working his way back up to his knees. "Cold-blooded murder? No." She shook her head. "I can't stand by and let you do this anymore. Tonight, I finally get to take you in." Readjusting the grip on her weapon, she squared her shoulders. "Now, lower your gun. This is your last warning."

Murphy looked back and forth between Dawson and this new woman. He wasn't exactly sure who she was but by the look of betrayal on Dawson's face, she was someone that had meant something to him. Murphy found himself tensing as the man's eyes turned dark and dangerous.

"You bitch!" he yelled, finally dropping his gun from Murphy's head. "You think you can fucking do this to me?" He turned and took a step closer to his formerly trusted assistant.

Agent Brooks held her ground, keeping her gun steady. "Kennedy, I swear to God, if you take one more step I _will_ shoot you. Drop your gun and get down on the ground!"

From his place on his knees, Murphy eyed his Beretta, which lay a good four feet away from him. The situation was spiraling and he was preparing to make his move. If this lady wasn't going to shoot this motherfucker then he would gladly do the job.

Dawson stopped moving forward but he kept his gun gripped tightly at his side. "You really think you can shoot me? After everything I've done for you, everything I've given you over the years?" He took another slow step forward and Agent Brooks tensed but didn't pull the trigger. "See? You don't have it in you. Give me the gun, Candice. Give me the gun and maybe I will consider forgiving this betrayal." Dawson moved to step closer but a burst of gunfire sounded in the small room and he fell to the ground clutching his knee. "You fucking bitch!" he howled in anger and pain.

Agent Brooks rushed forward at the same time Murphy made a dash for his gun. Ignoring Dawson's curses she flipped him over onto his stomach and put a knee into the small of his back to hold him down. She caught Murphy's movement out of the corner of her eye and brought her weapon back up at the same time that Murphy gripped his Beretta, raising it to target Dawson's head. "Stop!" she commanded fiercely.

Murphy was just about to squeeze the trigger when he saw that the woman now had him in her sights. "He doesn't deserve to live!" he yelled at her.

"He doesn't deserve to die!" she countered. "Death is too good for him. I've worked too God damn hard to bring this guy down and I'm not going to let you give him the easy way out. He's going to suffer the rest of his life behind bars." Murphy didn't move to lower his gun and she continued. "You have two choices, Mr. MacManus. I'll give you a five-minute head start before I call this in if you lower your weapon and leave right now, or, you can kill this man and I'll just shoot you and bring _you_ in instead."

Murphy paused reluctantly. He so badly wanted to pull the trigger and end this whole thing, but at what cost? He escaped death once already tonight and now he was being given the opportunity to make it out of here, to go back and make things right with his brother, to live to fight another day.

"Four minutes and thirty seconds, MacManus. What's it gonna be?" Agent Brooks pressed.

Murphy hesitated for a moment longer before finally lowering his gun with a curse. He shot a dark glare at Dawson before glancing over at the woman kneeling on his back. "You better see to it that he gets what he deserves."

Seeing that Murphy had made his choice, Agent Brooks lowered her gun and nodded. "Trust me, I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure that he gets shoved so deep inside the system that he'll never see the light of day again," she promised.

Murphy nodded, sparing one last look at Dawson before turning and limping through the door.

/ / /

"Damn it," Connor cursed as he looked over his shoulder for the fifth time since they started their trek back to the car. "Where the fuck is he? Those sirens are close, cops are going to be here any minute."

Edwards nodded but didn't voice his concern. He had complete faith in Murphy's ability. "He'll be here, just give him a chance," he said as they finally reached the car.

Opening the front passenger door, Edwards lowered Connor into the seat with the help of his sister before quickly ushering the young woman into the backseat. Running around the car, he climbed into the drivers seat and slammed the door shut. He was glad that Murphy had had the presence of mind to park the car beneath one of the trees lining the streets. Even though the leaves had long since abandoned its branches for the winter, it provided them with enough cover to shade the interior of the car from the street lamps, making it difficult for others to see them from the outside.

Once he was settled in his seat, Edwards turned to Connor and immediately began checking over his injuries.

Connor, who was leaning forward, looking anxiously out the windshield for any signs of his brother, shrugged him off. "Worry about it later, kid," he said gruffly.

Edwards was tempted to protest but it was obvious that the other man was too overwhelmed with worry at the moment and decided to leave him be. The worst of his injuries was the stab wound in his leg, which no longer appeared to be bleeding, and the concussion, for which there was nothing they could do at the moment, anyway. Nodding, he turned back to the steering wheel and twisted the key in the ignition, wanting to be ready as soon as Murphy came back.

"Damn it," Connor cursed again, banging a hand lightly on the dash. The sirens sounded as if they were only a few blocks away now and his heart pounded in his chest. They needed to get the fuck out of there _now_. A few more seconds ticked by and Connor clinched his jaw in agitation. "That's it, I'm going back for him." He reached for his door handle but Edwards' hand shot out, gripping his arm tightly.

"You can hardly walk, Connor!" he said incredulously. "He'll be here, just give him another minute, okay?"

Connor pulled his arm away. "We don't have another minute!" Shaking his head, he said, "This is ridiculous. I shouldn't have let him go alone." He reached for his door handle again but the young man pulled him back roughly.

"Hey," Edwards snapped. "Look around you. Do you remember how we got here? Cause I do." He pointed a finger in Connor's direction. "You left. You betrayed Murphy's trust, the one person in this world who had the utmost faith in you, who always had your back, who trusted _you_ with his life, and you lied to his face and left him. Your actions put us all in danger. You led Dawson right to us. You went off on your own thinking it would protect us and look what happened." Edwards saw the guilt that flashed across Connor's face and exhaled loudly. He knew that his words were harsh but his patience was running out and this was something that the other man needed to hear. Softening his tone, he continued. "Don't make the same mistake again, Connor. You and Murphy are a team, you can't do this without each other, and right now you need to believe that Murphy can take care of business. He trusted you, it's time for you to trust him."

Connor looked over at Edwards, staring the young man in the eye for a moment before averting his gaze. He knew that the kid was right; he knew that he had fucked up, but his brain was at war with his heart. The anxiety that seemed to have settled permanently in the pit of his stomach was urging him to do whatever he had to do to keep his twin safe, consequences be damned, but his head was telling him he had gone too far. Deep down, he knew that his brother was more than capable of handling the situation and he tried to let go of his fear and trust Murphy to do what needed to be done.

"Is that him?" Jennifer asked quietly from the backseat, leaning forward and pointing a finger out the windshield.

Connor exhaled loudly in relief when he looked up to find Murphy doing a limping run down the street toward their position. His relief was only momentary, however, as red, white and blue lights reflected off the surrounding buildings when the first police cruiser flew around the corner, coming up behind them, heading straight for Murphy.

"No," the word came out a mere whisper as Connor leaned forward, clutching the dash. "Go!" he shouted at Edwards. "We have to go get him!"

Edwards didn't hesitate but before he could shift the vehicle from park to drive, another squad car pulled up from the other direction, blocking the way back toward the marina. They watched from the darkness of their car as Murphy tried to dodge the vehicles and duck into the trees of the park that sat on the edges of the marina, but he wasn't quick enough. Another unmarked SUV screeched to a stop next to the cop cars and a man jumped out of the drivers seat, tearing off at a dead run after the fleeing fugitive.

In his condition, Murphy didn't stand a chance. Connor watched on helplessly as the man pursuing his brother on foot easily caught up to him, grabbed him around the waist and brought him down hard onto the pavement.

"Fuck!" Connor slammed his fist down on the dash hard enough to leave behind a crack. He watched as Murphy continued to struggle on the ground, causing the man who had tackled him to dig his knee harshly into his back before forcefully yanking his arms behind him and tightly cuffing his wrists. Lifting his eyes, Murphy looked in their direction and gave his head a subtle shake before dropping his forehead to the concrete in defeat.

Connor knew what the gesture meant. His brother was warning them off. Murphy wanted them to leave him.

 _Chapter revised 11/16/17_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"Stand up!" the man on top of Murphy growled as he gripped the chain between the handcuffs and used it to pull him into a standing position.

Murphy cringed as he was forced to put weight onto his injured leg but he didn't resist as the man pushed him forward roughly, one hand on the handcuffs and the other twisting his shoulder in a painfully tight grip. Looking around him as they walked, he saw that Smecker's car was still sitting on the curb half a block down and he cursed to himself. Edwards needed to get them the fuck out of here before these streets were crawling with every cop in lower Manhattan. He prayed that they wouldn't do anything stupid, especially Connor.

Murphy didn't have long to worry about it before he was being smashed forcefully up against the side of a black SUV.

"Garcia, search him," The man behind him barked.

Another man stepped up and Murphy hissed in pain when he forcibly kicked his legs wider and began running his hands down his body with assertive and deliberate movements. Murphy tried to turn and look at the man behind him only to have his head slammed back down with a heavy grip on the back of his neck. He grit his teeth in frustration but didn't fight against the unnecessarily fierce hold as the man removed both of his Berettas, his extra magazine and the large knife strapped around his ankle before nodding an 'all clear' to his partner.

The pressure on his neck disappeared and he was spun quickly around so his back was against the vehicle and he had a clear view of the man who had taken him down. Murphy recognized him instantly. It was the Marshal. _Of course it's the Marshal._ Smecker had said the man was good. He had warned them of what would happen if they weren't careful. He was right.

"Where's your brother, MacManus?" Weston asked sharply, looking around at the darkened streets around them, making sure he hadn't overlooked anything. Seeing nothing that caught his eye, he turned back to his prisoner. "Surely you didn't come here alone, huh?"

Murphy didn't bother responding and Garcia stepped up, banging his hand threateningly against the SUV behind them. "Where the fuck is he?" he growled impatiently. They were so close to ending this and he was eager to finish it tonight.

"Garcia," Weston warned his partner off. He knew that the Irishman wasn't going to give them anything useful and he wasn't about to waste his breath trying to get him to talk. Time was of the essence. If the other MacManus was anywhere in the area then there was still hope of catching him but only if they acted quickly. Garcia took a step back and looked to his superior, his temper barely restrained. "I want you to ride along with one of these officers and escort the prisoner back to the FBI office." Weston instructed. "You can question him there."

Garcia scowled at Murphy before nodding. "You sure you don't need me here?" he asked, already knowing what his partner's plan was. "This is a lot of area to cover."

Weston looked around at the two squad cars that were already on scene. The sound of sirens flooded the night air as more officers responded to the call and made their way to them. He turned back to Garcia. "I think we'll have plenty bodies here to lock down the area. I'm going to call Kuntsler and have him send us a team, as well. You get him back to the FBI and get him secure. Don't stop for anything, you understand?" He gave the younger man a meaningful look. As long as they had Murphy MacManus out in the open, they were at risk of losing him again. They still had no idea what kind of help the Saints were receiving on the inside and they needed to be prepared for anything. At this point, Weston wouldn't even put it past the civilians of the city to try and stop them.

Garcia understood what his friend was implying and he gave him another nod. He watched as Weston spun on his heel and began shouting orders at the newly arrived officers before grabbing Murphy by the handcuffs and pushing him in front, guiding him toward the nearest patrol car with a hand on his shoulder.

Murphy chanced another glance down the street and saw that Smecker's car still hadn't moved. What the fuck were they waiting for? This area was about to be completely locked down and their opportunity for escape was slowly vanishing. He sent a glare in that direction, giving his head another small shake, trying to warn them away without alerting the marshal behind him. They weren't going to be able to get him out of this, they needed to just fucking go.

Garcia led them over to the nearest police car and the officer quickly stepped around to open the back door for the prisoner. Murphy gave no signs of trying to fight them but it didn't stop Garcia from manhandling him down into the backseat before slamming the door hard in his face, leaving Murphy to stare out the window with a sinking heart.

/ / /

Connor watched in a mixture of panic and shock as Murphy was pulled up by his handcuffs and led back toward the cluster of vehicles on the road. He kept his gaze glued to his brother until they disappeared behind a large SUV then he turned wide eyes onto Edwards who was looking equally distressed by the situation.

A few moments passed where all they could do was watch the scene in front of them helplessly but when Connor saw a man lead Murphy over to one of the police cars and shove him forcefully into the backseat, his head suddenly cleared and he knew what he needed to do.

"Kid, take your sister and get out of the car," he ordered, his voice calm and assured. "Find a place to hide and call Smecker, have him come pick you up. He can take you somewhere you'll be safe till this all blows over. If Murphy and I don't come back, then he can help you find a way out of the country, somewhere you can start over."

Edwards was shaking his head the entire time but Connor didn't allow him the opportunity to protest. "Yes, Josh. You need to go. I don't know what I can do to get Murphy out of this, but I have to try. He's my brother and if he's going down then I'm going with him. You don't owe us that, kid. You've done more for us than we could ever repay, but you don't have to do this."

Edwards watched as the car transporting Murphy turned on its siren and began pulling away, lights flashing. Clenching his jaw in determination, he turned back to look at his sister who was watching them silently from the backseat. "Jenny, you have to get out. Go to the police over there, you can tell them everything that happened here tonight. You'll be safe with them, all right?"

"No!" Jennifer shook her head vigorously, tears shining in her eyes. "You're only making it harder on yourself by running. You can't live like this forever! Please, Josh, let me help you. I-I know I'm not exactly a lawyer yet, but I know people, I have friends who may be able to help. Please, you're the only family I have left. Just let me help you."

"Go, kid," Connor encouraged softly.

Edwards glanced up at Connor before looking back at his sister, his expression sad. "I'm sorry, Jenny. I can't do that. I know you probably don't understand why, but I can't just walk away now."

"Edwards…" Connor's voice took on hard edge but the young man ignored him completely.

"You have to go now, Jenny. I'm sorry, please, you have to go." The cruiser carrying Murphy had rounded the corner, disappearing out of sight and Edwards knew they were running out of time. Jennifer was shaking her head at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, and he felt his heart break. "I love you, Jenny. I'm so sorry."

Jennifer stared at her big brother for a moment longer before finally giving in and reaching for her door handle. Stepping out of the car, she stood on the sidewalk, shivering in the cold wind. "Good bye, Josh," she whispered tearfully, making eye contact with her brother one more time before slamming the door and hurrying down the sidewalk toward the cluster of police vehicles.

Edwards watched her for a brief second before reaching for the gearshift, preparing to throw it in drive and chase after the car that was carrying Murphy away. As he was shifting, a hand covered his and he looked up to find Connor watching him with an earnest expression.

"You don't have to do this, kid," he said, giving the young man one more chance to change his mind.

"I know." Edwards stared back openly, allowing Connor to see his peace with the choice he had made.

Connor stared him down for a moment before removing his hand and giving him a short nod.

Edwards wasted no time in pulling out into the street, slamming his foot down on the gas pedal as he made an immediate left onto South End Avenue. The police cruiser was nowhere to be seen on the quiet street and he pushed the pace a little faster, desperate not to lose track of the car.

Connor was beginning to fear that they had waited too long to try and follow the patrol car when half a mile ahead, he spotted the flashing lights taking a left hand turn. "Up there, kid. They're taking a left." He pointed ahead of them but it wasn't necessary, Edwards had already seen it.

It was close enough to sunrise that the city was starting to wake up around them and Edwards was forced to weave in and out of the small amount of traffic on the road as he raced toward the spot he had last seen the red, white, and blue lights. They reached the turn just as the stoplight was turning yellow and he gunned it through the intersection, the tires screeching slightly on the pavement as he took the turn without slowing down.

They only had a brief glimpse of the police car before it made another left hand turn, disappearing from their sight once more. "Damn it," Edwards cursed under his breath as he raced to catch up. As he approached the turn, the light changed to red and he was forced to slam on his breaks, lest he collide with the intersecting traffic. "God damn it!" he swore again, louder this time.

"It's fine. You're doing fine, kid," Connor assured, trying to sooth the young man's frazzled nerves. "They're headed North on West Street. We'll catch them."

Edwards nodded, clinching the steering wheel till his knuckles were white. He had no intention of waiting for the light to turn green and as soon as there was a decent break in traffic, he blew through the red light and put the pedal to the floor.

They were a good mile down West Street before they finally caught sight of the lights again and Edwards used the wide, multiple-lane road to eat up the distance between them. They were only a quarter of a mile behind when the cruiser took a right turn on Warren Street and Edwards was quick to follow.

Every second that passed brought them closer to their target and once they were within feet of the car Edwards began scanning the area around him, looking for the right opportunity to strike. Spotting an area of construction on the right hand side, he saw his chance and glanced quickly over at Connor. "You got your seatbelt on?" he asked as he strapped his own belt across his chest, keeping one hand on the wheel.

Connor clicked his belt in place before nodding. He knew what the young man was planning on doing and he braced himself hard on the dashboard.

Murphy stared listlessly out the window as the police car carried him closer and closer to his inevitable fate. Smecker's warnings of what would happen if they were to be recaptured chased their way through his head, and for the first time since they lost Rocco, Murphy felt as if he were being smothered under a blanket of despair.

The thought of spending the rest of his life in solitary made his body break out in a cold sweat. However, it wasn't the fear of small spaces or the idea of a lifetime of isolation that had him on the brink of panic, it was knowing that he would never get to see Connor again. He was going to live out the rest of his days in a concrete cell, never knowing what had become of his brother.

Growing up, Connor had always told him that the only thing strong enough to separate them was death, and even then he wouldn't be far behind. It was a sentiment that they had both shared throughout their life and when things got rough, they would continuously remind each other that they would never be alone as long as the other was still breathing. Apparently this was a scenario they hadn't considered.

"Check your six, officer, we got a car coming up fast on our tail," the marshal in the front seat warned, snapping Murphy out of his thoughts.

Straining against his cuffs, he twisted as far as he could in his seat to look out the back window. There was indeed a car behind them and it was moving up on them at an alarming rated of speed. The glaring headlights made it impossible to tell what kind of vehicle it was, but Murphy had his suspicions and he felt his heart rate kick up a notch. He watched, squinting against the bright lights, as the car got within a few feet of their rear bumper before swerving into the left lane and moving up on their side.

"You need to speed this ride up, now!" Garcia barked as he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. He didn't know who it was in the other car, but he had a pretty good idea of what they were after. Flipping his phone open, his fingers flew over the keypad as he put in a call to Weston.

Murphy watched as the car raced up along their left side and as they passed he caught a glimpse of the two figures in the front seat and swore. Leaning forward to look out the front windshield, Murphy spotted a large area of construction about a half a block ahead of them on the right. "Oh, shit," he exclaimed quietly to himself as he realized what his brother and Edwards were about to do.

Garcia noticed their predicament as well and abandoned the still ringing phone in his hand to yell at the police officer driving the car. "Hit the breaks! Hit the breaks!"

The officer did as he was told but his reaction time was too slow and within seconds they were sandwiched between a construction fence surrounding a four-foot deep, twenty-foot wide hole in the pavement, and the car speeding along next to them.

Murphy saw it happening as if it were in slow motion. Edwards jerked the car hard to the right, slamming into the side of the police cruiser, hitting it hard enough that they were forced over just far enough to plow through the chain link surrounding the construction site. The front wheels of their car slipped off the pavement into the hole, pulling the rest of the vehicle in with them and Murphy tried desperately to brace himself in any way he could as the front end of the squad car met the wall of the far side of the hole and came crashing to a jarring halt.

Without a seatbelt and with his hands cuffed behind his back, Murphy had no way to stop himself as he was thrown into the metal cage separating the front of the car from the back and his body smacked hard against the barrier. Garcia hadn't bothered with his own seatbelt and when the car collided with the bottom of the hole, he was thrown forcefully into the windshield. His head hit the thick glass with a sickening crack and consciousness fled immediately, blood already starting to trickle down over his face.

"Don't move! Keep your fucking hands on the wheel!"

Murphy recognized his brother's voice shouting at the still conscious police officer in the front seat but he couldn't move from where he was lying, stuck on the floorboard of the backseat. He heard someone moving around outside the vehicle a few seconds before his door was pulled open, revealing Edwards' worried face.

"Damn," the young man muttered upon seeing Murphy's predicament. "Are you okay?" he asked, crawling into the backseat and pulling Murphy out with a careful grip on his arm.

Nodding, Murphy used his legs to help push himself up. He groaned as he was extracted from the vehicle and Edwards quickly checked him over.

"Are you okay?" he questioned again. "Where are you hurt?"

Murphy shook his head. "I'm fine."

Seeing nothing immediately life threatening, Edwards gave a curt nod. "Alright, wait here," he said, leaving Murphy leaning against the back end of the car as he stepped up to the front passenger side and opened the door. He checked to ensure that the Marshal was unconscious before leaning over him into the vehicle. The officer behind the wheel looked nervously over at him and Edwards glanced up at Connor who had a weapon trained on the man from his place on the street above.

Connor inclined his head at the young man. "Hurry up, kid. We gotta get going."

Edwards didn't waste any time. "Give me your handcuff keys," he demanded, holding his hand out to the officer. "Now!"

The man didn't hesitate as he reached down to his belt and removed his key. Edwards took it from him but before he walked away he lowered a hand down and placed his fingers on the unconscious marshal's neck, checking for a pulse. He hadn't intended for anyone to get hurt and seeing the state this man was in, he was terrified that his stunt might have actually cost a good man his life. He felt a rush of relief when he found a steady beat under his fingertips and he looked back up at the officer. "He's still alive, but I recommend calling an ambulance as soon as we're gone."

The cop nodded at him, and Edwards pushed off of the car, walking back around to Murphy. "Turn around and we'll get these off of you."

Murphy obeyed but when the cuffs released, he was forced to grit his teeth against a sudden pain in his shoulder. Edwards noticed his discomfort and moved forward to check him over but Murphy waved him off. "Later," was all he said and the young man nodded in agreement.

With his variety of injuries, both new and old, it took a few attempts to get Murphy out of the hole and once they succeeded, Edwards was quick to follow. As he limped around to the other side of their car, Murphy couldn't help but notice the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered at a safe distance. Cars had stopped to watch and a few pedestrians had their cell phones out, documenting the incident.

Ignoring the attention they were receiving, Murphy ducked quickly into the backseat while Edwards took up his place in the drivers seat, slamming his door hard before speeding away from the scene.

Once they were on their way, Murphy closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat as the reality of what had just happened washed over him. He knew they weren't out of the woods yet, but the fact that he was no longer cuffed in the backseat of a cruiser, heading toward a lifetime of solitary confinement, had him literally shaking with relief.

"Hey," A soft voice caused him to lift his head and he opened his eyes to find Connor looking tentatively back at him. "You alright?"

Murphy dropped his gaze to his lap as he thought on that question for a moment. He certainly didn't feel all right. He felt as if his brain were working overtime trying to sort out the mass of jumbled emotions swirling inside him. Worry, relief, anger, failure, guilt, they were all demanding his attention and he wasn't sure about how to even begin sorting through them. He didn't quite understand how everything had gotten so fucked up so quickly. After a few beats of silence, he shook his head. "No. Not really," he rasped quietly.

Connor looked his brother up and down carefully, checking him over for any obvious injuries. Finding nothing more than bumps and bruises, he looked up at his twin and saw the conflict in his eyes. Murphy's problems weren't physical.

Nodding, Connor dropped his gaze. "What happened with Dawson?" he asked gently.

Murphy shook his head, his jaw clinched in obvious irritation. "I didn't kill him."

"But you found him?"

Murphy nodded mutely.

"What happened?" Connor pressed.

"Feds got to him first. Actually, it was just one. Some girl, I don't know who she was but judging by his reaction, she was probably working undercover. I had a gun to that motherfucker's head, ready to pull the trigger but she got in the way. I had to let him go." Murphy turned to look out his window, still upset with his own failure.

Connor couldn't help but feel disappointed with the outcome but he tried not to let it show.

"You did everything you could, Murphy. It certainly isn't your fault," Edwards assured, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

 _Yeah, it's not Murphy's fault,_ Connor taunted himself, turning back around to face the front. _We all know whose fault it is._

"Here." Edwards held his cell phone out to Connor, interrupting the man's self-berating. "Call Smecker. I'm not sure what he wants us to do. We don't have anywhere to go now."

Connor accepted the phone, shoving down the pang of guilt that he felt at the young man's words. Selecting Smecker's number, he hit the call button and lifted it to his ear with a sigh. He wasn't particularly looking forward to hearing what the older man had to say to him.

" _Yeah,"_ Smecker answered within half a ring.

"It's Connor." He could hear the man exhale loudly on the other end.

" _Jesus Christ, Connor! Is everyone all right? What the fuck were you thinking?"_

Connor sighed again. "Aye, we're okay. We had a run in with the police but we all made it out. We'll fill you in on everything later, but now we need a place to go. We've gotta get off the streets."

" _Alright, where are you?"_

Connor looked at the street signs as they passed through an intersection. "We just passed Church and Franklin Street heading north in lower Manhattan."

" _Okay."_ There was a brief silence on the other end. _"Your next intersection is White Street, take a right."_

Connor motioned for Edwards to turn at the next light.

" _Take White down three blocks to Baxter and make another right. Columbus Park will be on your left, meet me there. We need to get rid of that car."_

"Aye, we're on our way." There was a click on the other end and Connor closed the phone handing it back to Edwards.

"Where are we going?" the young man asked.

"Two more blocks and take a right. He's meeting us at a park." Edwards nodded and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

Smecker must have been standing by somewhere in the vicinity because the man was already there waiting for them when they pulled up. Shutting off the engine, Edwards jumped out and stepped around the front of the car to open Connor's door. Reaching down, he helped pull him up out of the seat, steadying him with an arm around his waist when he wavered on his feet.

Helping himself out of the backseat, Murphy stepped up to Connor's other side and ignoring the pain in his own shoulder, he offered what little help he could as they walked over to where Smecker was exiting his own vehicle.

The man eyed Connor as they approached, taking in his many injuries, but he didn't say anything. He opened the back door of the car and they gently lowered Connor down onto the seat, Murphy sliding in next to him. "Do you have everything you need out of the car?" he asked, turning to Edwards.

The young man shook his head and after they had the brothers settled in the backseat, he ran back to their car and took out three separate duffels with things they had taken from the apartment. Smecker popped the trunk for him and he threw the bags in before running around to the front and climbing into the passenger seat.

A blanket of silence lay over the occupants of the vehicle as they drove and it was several minutes before Murphy broke the quiet.

"Where're we headed?" he asked softly.

"Saint Mary's Catholic Church," Smecker answered. "I put in a call to your uncle and he got in contact with some of his connections in the city. He says the church is willing to offer you refuge. They have a small living space in their basement and they're going to allow us to use it until we get our feet back under us and figure out our next move."

Murphy nodded in understanding and a hush fell back over them as they all used this moment of peace to allow the events of the last twelve hours to sink in. The sun was just starting to show its face as they drove through the waking streets of Manhattan toward their safe haven.

 _Chapter revised 11/17/17_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"This way, quickly!" The priest standing on the sidewalk spoke in a hushed voice as he ushered the four men to a basement access around the side of Saint Mary's Catholic Church.

The city around them was beginning to glow with the rising sun and the traffic in the streets was slowly starting to increase, making it crucial that they get out of sight as soon as possible. Smecker led the way behind the priest, followed by Edwards and Murphy who were assisting a struggling Connor between them. They followed the Father through the side door down into a short, narrow hallway below the church. The older man stopped them at a thick wooden doorway at the end of the passage and pulled out a large key. Slipping it into the keyhole, he gave the door a push and it creaked on its hinges as it swung open.

Stepping aside, he allowed them to pass through in front of him before following, closing the door behind him. "I know it isn't much, but you will be safe here," the priest assured, watching as the men looked around them, taking in their new surroundings.

The space was just one large room with two beds along the far wall, a couch, two wooden chairs in the center, and a short counter with a sink and a fridge on the wall by the door. A doorway across from the couch led to what was most likely a small bathroom and they all nodded appreciatively.

"It's perfect, Father. We can't thank you enough for this," Murphy spoke up for all of them. They were simply grateful to have a safe place to rest and re-gather themselves.

The priest just nodded, giving them a small smile. "You may rest here as long as you need to. We lock the doors of the church after eleven PM so feel free to make your way up there anytime after that. I'm sure it has been a good long while since you've had the opportunity to pray in a house of God," he said directly to Connor and Murphy. "Speaking with the Almighty can often offer clarity in the midst of a difficult situation." He sent them a knowing look, as if he could sense their internal struggles.

"Thank you, Father," Connor said quietly.

The priest nodded again. "Yes, well, I suppose I'll leave you to it. Be sure to keep the door locked during the day," he instructed before looking at Connor, his eyes traveling over his visible injuries. "I'll gather what medical supplies I can find and leave them outside the door for you."

There was another chorus of thanks before the Father turned to leave, closing the door softly behind him.

Once they were alone, Murphy looked over to Edwards and motioned toward the couch. The young man nodded and together, they stumbled across the room, depositing Connor gently down onto the soft cushions.

Groaning, Connor let his head fall to rest on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, grateful for what small reprieve it gave his pounding head. He could already feel himself falling of the edge into sleep when a hand gripped his shoulder, giving it a shake.

"Hey," a voice said and he opened his eyes to find Edwards perched on the couch next to him. "No sleeping, alright?" the young man chastised gently.

Connor groaned and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. "So fucking tired," he complained through his fingers.

"I'm sure you are. However, something tells me that you've had enough concussions in your day to know the risks of falling asleep right now. Just give it a few hours," he encouraged.

Smecker let their duffle bags fall heavily onto the floor by the door and Murphy began immediately digging through them in search of something.

"Okay," Smecker sighed. "I hope I'm right in assuming that if I leave here and go on a run, that none of you are going to step foot outside this room." He leveled them all with a stern look. "Because I can guarantee that whatever miracle got you through this mess you've made for yourselves tonight, you won't get that lucky twice." Connor dropped his head and Murphy paused in his rummaging through the duffle bags at the reprimand. When no one spoke, he continued. "We have a lot of things to discuss and work out between the four of us, but first," his expression softened slightly, "get some rest. It's been a trying night for all of us and I think we all need to sleep on it before we start trying to figure this out." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to go pick up a few things so if there is anything you need, let me know."

"We could use another round of antibiotics for Connor," Edwards spoke up. "He has a pretty serious stab wound as well as another concussion. Murphy and I brought some things from the apartment but we could probably use some more bandages, gauze, and disinfectant."

Smecker nodded before his eyes traveled to Connor. "Alright, I'll be back this evening. Try to get some sleep." With that, he turned to leave.

Once the former agent was gone, Murphy resumed digging through the duffels until he had gathered an armful of first-aid supplies that they had taken from the apartment. Standing, he limped back over to the couch and dumped his load on the cushion next to his brother before grabbing one of the wooden chairs and dragging it across the floor so he could sit directly across from his twin.

Edwards stood from his seat and disappeared into the small bathroom where he could be heard banging around as he looked through the cabinets.

Without making eye contact, Murphy reached down and began untying the rag covering Connor's stab wound. As the shop towel was pulled away, it re-opened parts of the wound that had already dried and clotted and Connor inhaled sharply.

"Sorry," Murphy muttered, keeping his head down and eyes averted to his task. With the rag out of the way, he dug his fingers into the blood-ringed hole in his brother's jeans and gave it a pull, ripping them wider so he could have clear access to the injury. "Jesus," he breathed when he saw how deep and wide the puncture was. His guilt kicked up a notch and he blamed himself again for walking away. His own self-condemnation, however, didn't outweigh the anger and hurt that were still raging inside of him.

Edwards emerged from the bathroom carrying a small bowl of water and a couple of washrags. Setting the bowl on the ground at Murphy's feet, he handed him the rags before turning back toward the bathroom. "I'm going to jump in the shower," he informed quietly. "I'll be out in a bit."

Murphy turned and watched as Edwards entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He suspected that the kid was more interested in giving him and Connor some time alone than actually taking a shower and he groaned inwardly. Murphy wasn't sure he was ready to talk. The thoughts in his head were a jumbled mess and he needed some time to sort through his emotions lest he say something he may regret. He was trying really hard to approach the situation with a cool head but he felt like he was failing miserably.

He waited until he could hear the spray of the shower before turning back around to refocus on his task. Reaching down, he dipped one of the rags into the bowl of water and used both hands to wring out the dripping cloth. Murphy could feel his brother's eyes burning into him but he kept his gaze trained on the knife wound as he used the wet rag to begin gently wiping away the blood.

Connor grit his teeth slightly at the pain but didn't complain. He resisted the urge to sigh when Murphy stubbornly refused to make eye contact with him despite his attempts to catch his eye. The silence was almost as thick as the tension that was hanging around them and Connor desperately wanted to break it. "Is your shoulder all right?" he asked, trying to make some kind of conversation. "I've noticed you favoring it a bit."

"It's fine," Murphy shrugged off his twin's concern, still not looking up.

This time Connor couldn't hold back the large sigh that escaped him and he clenched his jaw in irritation. "I'm fucking sorry, alright?" he said suddenly. "I fucked up, Murph, I know I did, but I just…" he paused, "I don't know what I was thinking. I just couldn't handle the thought of something happening. I had to do the only thing that would guarantee your safety. I didn't expect it to fucking blow up in our faces like this." He stopped, taking a breath before continuing softly. "I know that I hurt you, Murph, but you have to know that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to keep you safe," he repeated as he finished his tirade, watching his brother for any kind of reaction or acknowledgment of his apology.

Murphy felt his temper rising the more Connor attempted to justify his actions but he kept his head down, his hands never stopping as he cleaned out the wound in his twin's thigh. He wasn't ready to have this conversation.

More than a little hurt by his brother's complete disregard, Connor grabbed the rag out of Murphy's hands, forcing him to stop what he was doing. "Christ, could you at least fucking look at me?" Murphy's head shot up at the outburst and Connor could see the mixture of emotions clouding his eyes.

Murphy felt the desire to yell, scream, cry and apologize all at once. He wanted to give his brother a hug and be grateful that they were both alive, and yet, at the same time he felt an overwhelming desire to punch him in the face again. He couldn't do this right now.

Pulling the washcloth roughly away from Connor he returned to his task, ignoring the pained look on his twin's face. "I'm not talking about this right now," was all he said.

At that point, Connor wished that his brother _had_ hit him in the face. It probably would have hurt less than the pain he felt now. He knew that Murphy probably needed time to work through his emotions but he felt like he was being shut out and it stung more than he wanted to admit. Nodding, Connor gave his brother the space he desired and allowed him to tend his wound in silence.

Murphy was just finishing securing a bandage around Connor's thigh when Edwards exited the bathroom, water still dripping form his dark hair down onto his bare chest. The young man took over, encouraging Murphy to go take advantage of the warm shower while he finished up with Connor. Murphy hesitated, torn between helping take care of his brother and the peace and solitude that the shower offered. At Edwards' prodding, he decided to head for the bathroom, passing off the blood-soaked rag to the kid before relinquishing his seat and walking away.

Edwards watched him go before turning back to Connor, noticing the man's downfallen expression. It was obvious that the brothers had failed to work out any of their issues, not that that surprised him. He knew how deeply wounded Murphy was and the problems in Connor's head weren't going to disappear overnight, but it still hurt seeing the two of them at odds with each other. They were the heart and soul of this mission. Without their connection this whole thing seemed to be falling apart.

Seeing as how Connor wasn't too interested in talking, Edwards finished dressing the rest of his wounds in silence. When Murphy got out of the shower, he checked over his shoulder, determining that it was simply a pulled muscle from his attempts to brace himself against the cuffs. He made him a quick bag of ice and sent him off to bed to try and get some sleep. With Murphy sleeping, Edwards appointed himself to stay awake and monitor Connor's concussion until it was safe for him to go to bed, as well.

Nine o' clock in the morning found Connor sitting in the same spot on the couch, staring listlessly at the wall while Edwards sat bent over in one of the wooden chairs. Neither of them had spoken much over the last few hours and Connor could see the exhausted slump of the young man's shoulders. "You should go get some sleep, Kid. I'll be fine on my own."

Edwards' head perked up in surprise at hearing Connor's voice but he shook his head stubbornly. "I don't mind staying up," he insisted. "Give it another hour and you should be good to go, then we can both rest."

Connor nodded, letting the young man have his way. His eyes searched out the same spot on the wall that he had been focused on for the last three hours and he let his gaze slide slowly out of focus.

Seeing that Connor was slipping back into his languid daze, Edwards decided to speak up. "He'll come around, you know." Connor looked over at him, his eyebrow raised and he pressed on. "He's hurt and angry, but he hasn't given up on you if that's what you're afraid of. None of us have."

Connor looked down at his hands. "Yeah well, maybe you should. It doesn't seem to matter what I do, the people closest to me always seem to pay the price. If I were you I'd run for the fucking hills."

"Exactly!" Edwards shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "It doesn't matter what you do because things like that are completely out of your hands. None of the people you've lost have been your fault, Connor. It's all out of your control. You can't blame yourself for their deaths and you can't continue to live your life waiting for the next bad thing to happen. When you and Murphy stick together as a team you are both safer than when you try to go off on your own. That is how you keep Murphy safe. You keep him close, you watch his back, and you let him watch yours. And if you ever decide to stop keeping me at a distance, you'll find that I'm here to back you up, as well."

Connor was quiet for a moment as he allowed the young man's words to sink in. This kid continuously amazed him. The depth of his loyalty was touching and Connor felt a little guilty at how hard he had been on him since the beginning. He sat there staring at his spot on the off-white wall for a few minutes longer before clearing his throat. "I'm sorry, Kid," he mumbled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He had never been good at apologies, but it seemed that he would be doing a lot of them in the near future so he forced himself to press on. "You've been nothing but faithful to us and you deserve more than what I've been giving you." Looking over, he made eye contact with Edwards, letting the young man see the sincerity in his eyes. "I've kept you at arms length out of fear of what would happen, to both me and you, if I didn't. Every time we let someone in, it's like starting the countdown on their death clock and it's only a matter of time until you go too. I don't think I can handle that. I know that's no excuse for what I did, I know it was wrong, but knowing it doesn't change how I feel. That fear is still there and I don't know how to fucking get rid of it."

Edwards looked at him, his eyes slightly wide. He was surprised to hear Connor speak with so much truth and emotion. Even though he hadn't known the twins for more than a couple months he had been able to pick up on the personality differences between the two of them. Connor was never one to allow his feelings to become this transparent. Unlike Murphy, who couldn't hide his emotions if he tried, Connor had always been more closed off, especially toward him. The only person who was ever allowed to see every layer of his complicated personality was Murphy, which was why his unguarded and heartfelt confession to him now caught the young man so off guard.

Edwards was silent for a moment before clearing his throat. "I've told you before, Connor, I understand why you've been doing what you're doing, and I don't take it personally. But I'm also not going to back down to it anymore. You always joke about Murphy being the stubborn one and yet you are the most infuriatingly strong-willed man I've ever met. When it comes to protecting the people you care about, you will stop at nothing, and that is an admirable quality, but you have to have limits. Do you think that Murphy cares any less for you than you do for him? If something happened to you it would destroy him and if you keep going down this path, that day will come sooner rather than later."

Connor dropped his gaze and Edwards leaned back in his chair with a sigh, running his hands through his thick hair. "I've never been a particularly religious person, but I do believe, without a doubt, that you two were meant to take this on together. Both of you. I know you believe in this calling, Connor, you wouldn't be here if you didn't, so why all of a sudden have you abandoned your faith in your brother?"

"I haven't lost faith in Murphy," Connor defended quickly.

"But you don't trust that he can handle himself?" Edwards pressed.

Connor shook his head. "Of course I do," he insisted vehemently. "Murphy is the only person in this world who has always had my back, no matter what. I trust him with my life, and in a tight spot, there is no one else I would rather have by my side. It's the motherfuckers that we're going after that I don't trust."

Edwards opened his mouth to speak but Connor kept going. "I was prepared to watch him die, Josh. That night in the prison, right after Romeo was killed, Murphy was going to be next and I thought I was going to be forced to sit there and watch him die. I think something broke in me then because I haven't been able to get it out of my head since. I watch him die over and over again in my dreams every night, most of the time I'm the one who pulls the trigger." his expression turned distant and his voice dropped lower. "They all come to me in my dreams, telling me that I've failed them, telling me that it's my fault."

"It's not," Edwards interrupted, shaking his head vigorously. Connor's nightmares were certainly not news to him, but to hear the man finally open up and talk about what it was that had been haunting him so furiously was a huge deal. Rising up out of his seat slightly, he pulled the chair closer to the couch and leaned forward, putting himself in Connor's line of sight. "It's not your fault," he continued once he had his attention. "Those dreams are simply your subconscious mind expressing the guilt that I know you torture yourself with. I know that, what you guys went through that night in the Hoag, was terrible. I was there, too, remember? I also know how some traumatic experiences can stick with you and completely change the way you think and react to certain situations."

Edwards hesitated for a moment before proceeding. "I watched my dad struggle with PTSD for six years before his accident. He was in the service for almost eight years before finally leaving the military when I was ten. Once he was home full-time, he started having trouble sleeping. He would have horrible nightmares and wake up yelling loud enough to wake the neighbors. He went through stages of anxiety and depression and was having panic attacks on a regular basis."

"I don't have PTSD," Connor cut in.

Edwards raised his hands defensively. "I'm not trying to put a label on it. I'm just telling you that I know firsthand how some things can stay with you. You have to find a balance between your fears and your faith. You have to trust Murphy to take care of himself and have your back, just like you have your entire life. You have to believe that what you're doing has purpose and that everyone you've lost along the way has died with honor for that cause. Don't cheapen their sacrifice by blaming and torturing yourself."

Connor sat back in his seat as he thought about the young man's words. He knew the kid was right but it didn't make him feel any better. It was just going to take time.

Edwards could see that Connor needed a moment to think about everything they had discussed. Standing from his chair, he offered a hand down to the man. "C'mon, let's get you some sleep. It should be fine now, and if not, I'll be waking you up every couple of hours just to make sure."

Connor nodded and accepted the hand up. Edwards helped him limp over to the empty bed next to Murphy and eased him down before going back over and collapsing heavily on the couch. There was only a few seconds in between the time their heads hit the pillow and the time they both drifted off to sleep, beyond exhausted.

/ / /

 _It was bright. Everything around him was reflecting a blinding gleam and he was forced to squint his eyes against the intensity of it. Connor spun in a tight circle, trying to make sense of his surroundings. This wasn't right. Normally it was dark and suffocating, not this shining radiance that was encircling him on all sides. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes in delight. It smelled like the rolling green hills of the Emerald Isle. It smelled like home._

 _The light around him suddenly burst into brilliant rays, all seeming to be emanating from one spot, and he brought his hand up to shield his eyes. He felt a presence close by but the light was too bright to see anything._

" _Hello?" he called out, not sure what he was expecting to happen._

" _Hello, Connor," a familiar voice spoke out from behind the light._

 _The brightness faded as quickly as it had come and Connor was able to see a silhouetted figure standing in front of him. The person began walking forward as the light behind them dimmed until Connor was able to see their face. "Da?" he breathed, not quite trusting this vision in front of him. Every other time his father had found him in his dreams it was to shove his failures in his face, but this didn't feel like that. This felt warm and inviting._

" _Aye, lad, it's me," Noah said, an amused smile curling his lips._

" _What's going on, Da? 'M I dead?"_

 _Noah shook his head, his expression turning sad. "No, my boy, you're not dead. You still have a lot of work to do before you come home."_

" _Then why am I here?"_

 _Sighing, the older man took a step forward and removed his sunglasses, looking into his son's eyes. "What are you doing, Connor? You can't do this job on your own, you weren't meant to. You're getting yourself off track and you need to find your way again."_

" _I don't know how to do that."_

" _Don't lose your faith. You have to trust that there is a purpose in everything He does, even when it hurts. I know you're angry, and I know you don't understand why some of these things had to happen, but there is always a reason. There is always a plan. You and your brother are a part of that plan, Connor, and you need to stay your course."_

 _The light around them began pulsing slightly as it started growing brighter once more. Noah looked around him before laying a gentle smile on his son. "I have to go."_

 _Connor watched as his father began fading back into the radiance beyond and he stepped forward, trying to follow him. The light continued to grow until he was forced to cover his eyes with his hand as he called for his father._

"Da!" The word was little more than a dying whisper as it escaped his lips. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring up at a strange ceiling, his mind taking a moment to register where he was. The events of the previous night came flooding ruthlessly back to him and he groaned at the full body ache that set in immediately upon waking. The quiet murmur of voices reached his ears and he slowly pushed himself up on his elbows so he could look around the room. He found Murphy and Edwards both sitting on the couch in the middle of the room with Smecker standing in front of them, hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks as he spoke with them in a low voice.

Connor pushed himself the rest of the way up and kicked his legs over the side of the bed. He still felt slightly dizzy and his head felt like it was housing a jackhammer, but he pushed it aside as he attempted to stand. As soon as he tried to put weight on his injured leg, the muscles around his stab wound protested violently and he was forced to catch himself on the bed lest he wind up on the floor. The mattress creaked under his weight and a groan was pulled from his chest, causing the other three men in the room to look over at him.

Edwards stood and quickly crossed the distance between them, stepping up to Connor's side just as the man was making his second attempt to stand. "Alright, alright, just sit back down. Take it easy, will you?" He chided, pressing the Irishman back down onto the mattress.

"I'm fine, just stiff," Connor assured but didn't protest as he was forced to sit back on the bed.

"Fine is not a word I would use to describe you right now, but I have no doubt that you're stiff. Open your eyes for me, let me take a look."

Connor did as he was told and Edwards angled the man's head toward the light to watch the pupil reaction. They looked much smaller than they had twelve hours ago and he felt relieved by it. "It looks better," he nodded, releasing Connor's head. "Other than stiff, how are you feeling?"

Connor simply shrugged, grunting non-committedly as he inclined his head in the direction of where the other two were sitting. "What's going on?"

"Smecker came back about an hour ago," Edwards informed. "We're just talking, filling him in on everything that happened last night."

Nodding, Connor looked around the room, realizing for the first time that there were no windows to the outside. "What time is it?"

"A little after eleven PM. You slept for over thirteen hours."

That didn't surprise him in the least. He felt as if he could easily sleep for thirteen more. Pushing himself up, he managed to gain his feet and stay there this time. Edwards offered him support but Connor waved him off as he hobbled over to the couch, taking a seat on the opposite end as Murphy. He glanced over, hoping to catch his brother's eye but Murphy kept his head down as he chewed on the edges of his thumbnail, his good leg bouncing a nervous rhythm. Sighing, Connor ran a hand through his messy hair, suddenly craving a hefty dose of nicotine. Giving up on his twin acknowledging him, he looked up at Smecker who was still standing in front of them, arms now folded across his chest, watching him expectantly.

Connor met his gaze evenly. "Well, where do you want to start?" he asked boldly, wanting to get his lecture over with.

Smecker regarded him for a moment longer before speaking. "Edwards, in one of those bags I brought over there, you'll find a coffee pot along with a tin of French roast," Even though he was speaking to the young man on his left, he kept his gaze fixed on Connor. "Maybe you and Murphy should go set that up and get a pot brewing for us." The order came out sounding like a request but they all knew it wasn't a suggestion. Smecker wanted to talk to Connor alone.

Edwards stepped off without question but Murphy lingered, seemingly hesitant to walk away from this conversation. Finally breaking eye contact with Connor, Smecker glanced at Murphy, raising an eyebrow at him. Murphy looked like he wanted to protest, but instead he gave the older man a short nod before standing slowly to his feet and following Edwards across the room.

The living space wasn't that big but Edwards and Murphy being in the makeshift kitchen allowed them a little more privacy than they previously would have had.

Smecker moved forward and took a seat on the couch next to Connor who was leaning back against the arm, rubbing the scruff along his jaw distractedly as he watched the former agent settle in next to him. They sat there for a few moments, staring at each other before Smecker finally decided to speak. "What are you doing, Connor?"

Connor was struck with a sense of Déjà vu as his dream came rushing back to him. His Da had asked him the same question. "You know what I'm doing, Smecker," he said, dropping his gaze but continuing to rub at the stubble on his chin. "I was just trying to keep them safe," he murmured quietly. "I fucked up. I know it; everyone fucking knows it. It won't happen again."  
Smecker shook his head, scrubbing his hands over his face before looking back up through bloodshot eyes. The man looked tired. "This isn't going to work." Connor narrowed his eyes at him but Smecker didn't give him a chance to interrupt. "We all have to be able to function as a team or this simply isn't going to work. You got lucky last night, Connor. By all rights you should all be in custody right now. I'm still trying to figure out how you escaped that mess and the only thing I can come up with is divine intervention."

Connor let his hands fall into his lap but he didn't say anything and Smecker sighed. "Look, I know that you and Murphy have been through hell these last few months. I don't know details, but whatever happened in the prison that night, I know it affected you deeply. I'm going to ask you something, Connor, and whatever your answer, I need it to be honest." Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he fixed the man with a serious look. "Do you still believe in this mission? Is this still what you want?"

At that, Connor's head shot up, his eyes bright with passion. "Of course I fucking do." he whispered fiercely. "This mission is everything. If I fucking give up now then it all will have been for nothing. Every person we've lost, they will have died for nothing." Rocco's voice rang in his head and he closed his eyes against the memory. _Don't ever stop._ Those were his friend's last words, his dying wish, and Connor felt that it was more important now than ever to keep going, to keep fighting. Opening his eyes, he looked back to Smecker, a determined set to his jaw. "We have to keep going. I know that I'm a fucking idiot and I jeopardized us all, but it won't happen again. We can't quit."

Smecker watched Connor carefully for a moment before nodding slowly. He could see the sincerity in his resolve and he was satisfied with the man's answer. "Okay," was all he said. "In that case, we have some things to discuss regarding our next move." That was spoken louder as he turned, inviting Edwards and Murphy back into their conversation.

Leaving the coffee pot percolating on the counter, the other two walked back over, Edwards taking a seat in one of the chairs, Murphy choosing to stand.

Smecker waited until he had everyone's attention. "I have some bad news. As you seem to already know, Dawson has been taken into FBI custody. Apparently the feds have had an agent on him for the last several years. She was deep undercover and only two or three people in the entire Bureau had knowledge of the operation. The FBI has enough evidence to lock this piece of shit away for the rest of his life…" shaking his head he trailed off, hesitant to continue. He knew how the brothers were going to react, and he had to say he felt just as angry. This was why they did what they did. This very reason is what made him start trying to find justice outside of the system in the first place.

Connor picked up on Smecker's hesitance and his stomach dropped.

"After seeing the charges being brought up against him, Dawson has decided to turn state's evidence. They've offered him full immunity if he testifies in court against all of his guilty associates and accomplices. He's already signed the agreement and will be placed in witness protection by this time tomorrow."

Connor could feel his blood boiling and he clenched his fists. Looking over, he saw the same rage expressed on Murphy's face.

Murphy could feel his anger bubbling up dangerously close to the surface, and he knew that he was fighting a losing battle trying to rein it in. He couldn't believe that, after all of this, Dawson was going get away. Knowing that that son of a bitch was going to be spending the rest of his life behind bars was the only silver lining to the last twenty-four hours and now it was all for fucking nothing. The eruption rose up inside of him slowly and he felt it but was powerless to stop himself as he lashed out, kicking the empty wooden chair next to him hard enough to send it clattering across the hard floor. "Motherfucker! I should've just pulled the fucking trigger when I had the chance!"

Edwards jumped at the outburst, but Smecker looked as if he had been expecting it. "Killing him wasn't a real option at the time," the older man insisted. "You made the right call."

Murphy scoffed, shaking his head in disagreement.

A lifetime of helping cool his brother's temper had Connor moving out of his chair toward his twin without thinking. "Hey," he said quietly, reaching out to place a calming hand on Murphy's shoulder just like he had done thousands of times before. As soon as his hand made contact, Murphy jerked forcefully away, shooting him a glare over his shoulder. Connor felt the rejection like a slap to the face but he didn't let it show. Holding his hands up in surrender, he took a step back, giving Murphy his space. "This doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing, Murph," he tried to reason.

"He's right," Smecker spoke up. "With Dawson willing to testify, that gives the FBI the opportunity to put away a lot of New York City's biggest hitters. They could dismantle street gangs and put a serious dent in the underground markets. It will be a good thing for the people of this city."

"And what about Dawson? Huh? We just gonna let him waltz off into the fucking sunset to live happily fucking after?" Murphy argued, still fuming. He couldn't just let that man get away. Not after everything he had done. He cast a quick glance at his brother, the sight of Dawson's handiwork marring his twin's body only fueling his temper. "He doesn't get to live."

"He won't," Connor assured, looking to Smecker for confirmation.

Smecker sighed, leaning back into the couch and crossing his legs. "We'll have to wait until after the trials push through. He has to be able to testify for this to work. That could take anywhere from three to six months or longer, it depends how quickly they move things along. Usually something like this, they want it done as quickly as possible to ensure nothing happens to their witness. But I suppose, after that, if you really think it's worth it to try and track him down and finish the job, then sure. He isn't going to pose much of a threat after this, he'll be on the FBI watch list for the rest of his life, but I can understand why you want to tie up this loose end."

Connor turned back to his brother. "See? We'll fucking get him, Murph. I promise you that."

"Oh, you fucking promise, do you?" Murphy snapped. "Whatever the fuck that's worth." Connor all but physically recoiled from the barbed statement and Murphy regretted the words the second they left his mouth. The wounded look on his twin's face sent his anger into a nosedive and his temper fizzled out like water on a flame.

Connor nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor as he waited for the stinging burn in his chest to subside.

"Connor…" Murphy began, his voice half the volume it was just a moment ago.

Connor waved him off, his eyes still nailed to the floor. "It's fine, Murph, don't worry 'bout it. I think we're done here for now, anyway." He looked briefly at Smecker before turning for the door. "I'll be upstairs if anyone needs me." Without another word, he disappeared through the door, letting it latch softly behind him.

Murphy stared after his brother and as soon as the door closed he fisted both hands in his hair, growling in frustration. Dropping his arms, he saw that Smecker and Edwards were both looking at him. "Aye, I know, I'm a fucking asshole," he muttered. Sighing, he shook his head at himself before heading for the door. "I guess I'll be back."

"Murphy," Edwards called after him, standing from his chair when the other man turned back. "I know that you're hurt, and I'm not in any way excusing what he did, but I think Connor could really use his brother right now."

Murphy dropped his gaze to the ground before nodding and continuing toward the door. Once out in the hallway, he paused, leaning against the concrete wall just outside their door, taking a moment to collect himself. After a few moments of deep breathing, he made his way to the stairs that would lead up to the church.

He found his brother in the third pew from the front, his hands folded in front of him while he prayed from his knees on the kneeling rail. As he neared, he could see that Connor had his wooden rosary clutched between his palms, his lips moving silently with prayer. Stepping down the carpeted isle, Murphy slid soundlessly onto the bench next to his twin and waited patiently for him to acknowledge his presence.

Connor didn't need to hear the wooden pew creak to know that his brother had joined him. Taking the time to finish out his prayer, he crossed himself before rising from his knees and settling back onto the bench with a sigh. "I told you not to worry about it. I didn't need you to come after me."

"Aye, I know what you said."

Connor didn't say anything, keeping his gaze focused on the pulpit as he waited for his brother to come out with whatever it was he apparently had to say.

Several long minutes passed before Murphy decided to speak and when he did, it was barely audible. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the apology quiet but heartfelt.

Those certainly weren't the words that Connor had expected to hear and he glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Murph." He dropped his gaze to his lap as he fidgeted with his rosary, rolling the small wooden beads between his fingers. "I deserve every bit of it, and I guess if yelling at me is what it takes for you to somehow eventually forgive me, then I'll fucking take it."

Murphy felt another stab of guilt and he swallowed hard. Yes, he was hurt, and he was angry, but did Connor really think that he wouldn't forgive him? He remembered the devastation on his brother's face as he walked away from him after their fight in the apartment and Dawson's words came back to him. _'He had the look of a man who had given up all hope, a man who felt he had lost everything and had nothing left to live for.'_

Murphy turned his head to look at his brother but Connor kept his eyes averted down at his hands. "Did you really think I wasn't gonna come for you?"

Connor looked up at him, his gaze questioning how he could know that and Murphy shrugged. "Something Dawson said." Connor nodded once and dropped his head, not bothering to answer the question. However, the muscle tensing in his jaw as he ground his teeth was answer enough and Murphy shook his head. "You have that little faith in me?"

Connor's head snapped up. "Of fucking course not," he insisted. "But I've seen you mad before, Murph, I've seen you pissed beyond all fucking reason, but you've never looked at me like that. We've had our fair share of disagreements in the past, but you've never turned your back on me before. As soon as you walked out that door I realized just how much I fucked up, how much I hurt you. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd walked away for good." He paused, taking a deep breath as he went back to fiddling with his rosary. "I wasn't so sure you could forgive me after something like that, and to be honest I'm still not feeling too good about my chances."

Murphy looked at his brother with sad eyes and whatever anger he was still harboring on the subject seemed to fade away. He was still upset and the lifetime of trust that he had built with his twin had been severely shaken, but their foundation was strong and he knew they would recover. Despite words said in anger, there was nothing in this world that could make him abandon his brother. It simply wasn't an option.

Turning in his seat, Murphy allowed his left arm to drape over the back of the pew as he regarded his twin with an open gaze. "Remember back in our fourth year of primary when Fergus and Lee found that snake out in the schoolyard and dared me to slip it into Mrs. Riley's sweater pocket while she wasn't looking?"

Connor raised a curious eyebrow at the sudden shift in conversation but went along with it. "Aye." He huffed a short laugh at the memory. "I told you it was a fucking bad idea."

"You did, but it was a dare and those fuckers knew I could never back down from a dare. It's a matter of honor." Murphy defended himself. "I expected to get a girly squeal out of her, maybe even a scream, but I knew when she started crying that I was going to be in it pretty deep. I was just getting ready to come foreword and confess when you beat me to it. You took the blame even though you had been against the whole thing."

"Aye, and instead of just letting me take the fall for it, you had to go and tell them that it was you. They didn't know who to believe so they punished us both." Connor squirmed in his seat as he remembered the pain of their mother's wrath on his backside. The woman had been livid. He wasn't sure what a harmless childhood prank had to do with their current situation, though, and he watched his brother curiously.

"You've been trying to protect me our entire lives," Murphy continued, leaning forward so he was a bit closer to his twin. "It's what you do. It's who you are, but Christ, Connor, you went too far this time."

Connor looked back down at his lap, running a calloused thumb over the wooden cross of his rosary. "I know," he rasped quietly. "What I did, it made sense at the time. I felt it was my only option, but I know now it was the wrong choice." He looked pleadingly back up at his twin, moisture shining in his eyes. "I'm fucking sorry, Murphy. I don't know what else to say to make it right. Just tell me what I need to do so you can forgive me 'cause I don't think I can keep doing this without you."

Murphy felt his throat swell with emotion and he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing softly. "You've already been forgiven. It doesn't matter how fucking mad I may be, I'm never gonna leave you." A single tear rolled down Connor's cheek and Murphy watched as he quickly swiped it away. "I forgive you," he continued, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around the back of his brother's shoulders. "But I have to know that you're never gonna do this again. I know you've been hurting, Connor, but you have to stop shutting me out. You have to let me help. Please."

There was a moment of silence before Connor looked up into Murphy's eyes. "If I promise, will you believe me?"

Murphy sighed, his eyes wandering back towards the front of the church as he thought over the question. Trust was a hard thing to mend once it was frayed but he also knew that he couldn't lose his faith in his brother. If he stopped trusting Connor then they might as well abandon their mission now. Turning back to his twin, he nodded. "Aye."

"Then I fucking promise you, Murph. I swear to God," looking up to the ceiling, he crossed himself, "we stick together from now on." He looked openly at his brother, willing him to see the truth in his eyes.

They held eye contact for several moments before Murphy finally nodded, a genuine smile breaking out on his face for the first time in days. "Alright then." Without hesitation or warning, Murphy pulled his brother forward, wrapping him in the tight hug he had been craving ever since they found him alive on Dawson's yacht.

Connor took a deep breath as the impossible weight that had been wearing him down seemed to disappear from his shoulders. He knew that his problems weren't gone, but he felt he was able to approach them with a new clarity and a rejuvenated strength that he had lacked on his own.

Murphy gave him a hard pound on the back before pulling away and Connor hissed as the gesture aggravated his sore muscles.

"Fuck, sorry," Murphy apologized as he looked over his brother's battered body. "He really did a number on you, didn't he? You look worse than you did after that fight in the pub back in Dublin, remember that?" He chuckled at the look on his twin's face.

Connor shook his head, touching his bruised face gingerly. "Don't really care to remember that one. And you can't give Dawson all the credit here." He gestured to his brother's bruised knuckles. "I have you to thank for some of these." He offered up a grin so his twin would know he didn't harbor any hard feelings.

"Yeah well, you shouldn't have let me hit you so many damn times. That was how I knew you were already feeling guilty about what you did. You never would've let me get that many free shots in otherwise."

Connor shook his head and bumped Murphy lightly with his shoulder. Their conversation trailed off and they fell into a comfortable silence. It was several minutes later when Murphy was about to suggest that they get back to Smecker and Edwards but Connor spoke first.

"There's one more question I have for you, Murph," he said, his tone suggesting it was something serious.

Murphy frowned slightly. "What's that?"

"Whose idea was the flaming sailboat?"

Although the situation hadn't been funny at the time, Murphy chuckled at the memory of it. "I really wish I could take credit for that one, but I'm afraid that honor goes to Edwards."

Connor nodded, a wide smile splitting his face. "The kid's got some good plans."

"Aye, better than yours."

"Fuck you."

/ / /

Weston collapsed into the hard plastic chair gracing the small hospital room with an exhausted sigh. Kicking his feet up, he propped them on the edge of the bed as he reclined back, sliding deeper into the chair in a futile attempt to get more comfortable. Resting his head in his hand, he stared tiredly at the face of the man lying motionless in front of him, the humming and beeping of various machines carrying on in the background.

It had been two weeks since the incident at North Cove Marina and Garcia had yet to regain consciousness. That night, Weston had received a call from his partner approximately ten minutes after he had left the scene with Murphy MacManus in custody. By the time he had answered the call, he could hear nothing but yelling before everything was silenced by a loud crash. He hadn't waited around on the phone to try and get an answer out of Garcia. Abandoning his search for the other MacManus brother, he had redirected all available backup to the GPS location being given for his partner's phone. Once they were on scene, he had ordered a perimeter to be set up, but it was a pointless gesture and he had known that. Their prisoner was long gone.

The police officer driving the car had managed to escape with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises, thanks to the seatbelt he had been wearing. Garcia, however, hadn't been so lucky. His friend had suffered a severe brain injury as a result of his head colliding with the windshield, and he had been rushed to the hospital. After a series of scans and tests, the doctors had said that there was some major swelling in parts of the young man's brain. Cerebral edema, they had called it. In addition to the swelling, there were bits of bone fragments that had broken off from the skull, causing several blood vessels to burst in his head. The added injury only increased the inflammation, preventing fluids from leaving the brain and causing the pressure to build. The doctors had been forced to perform some sort of procedure to drain the fluid so they could go in and repair the damaged blood vessels. It was decided after that, it was best if they kept him in a medically induced coma to hopefully reduce the risks brought on by the swelling until the young man had a chance to heal.

After another recent round of scans, the doctors had agreed that the inflammation had gone down enough to bring Garcia out of the coma and they began the process of trying to wake him up. That was two days ago. They had warned him that it could take some time and he tried not to worry, but it was impossible.

Weston couldn't help but feel responsible for the state his partner was currently in. He should've made him wait until more units arrived on scene so he could send them off with an escort. He should've known that, where Murphy MacManus was going, Connor MacManus would soon to follow. He should've known that he would be going after his brother.

Between the street full of eye witnesses and the physical evidence captured on the onlookers cell phones, there was no question about the events that resulted in the MacManus brothers slipping away from him yet again. They had clear photos of Connor sitting shotgun in a car while Murphy was being helped into the backseat by none other than Joshua Edwards. At least they now knew for certain where their missing prison guard had slipped off to. The young man was still helping them.

The cell phone pictures that had been taken at the scene had given them a clear view of the car's license plates but it was useless. The vehicle had been found abandoned at a park five blocks from where the patrol car had been run off the road. He ran the plates on the car but it was the same as the last car that had been used by the Saints. The vehicle was registered under the name of a man who had no background, no history. He was a fucking ghost.

Jennifer Edwards had been found at the scene by the marina and the girl was able to shed some light on what had taken place that night. She had insisted that she had no knowledge of where her brother or the MacManus brothers were headed or what they had planned next, but Weston could tell she was hiding something. He could prove nothing, however, and it was obvious that the young woman had been through quite the ordeal, so he sent her home with double the security she had before. The odds that Joshua Edwards would be dumb enough to risk going back for his sister were slim to fucking none, but Weston wanted to have people standing by just in case.

So here he was. He had had both of his fugitives right in front of him and they slipped away… again. They had no leads to follow and there hasn't been a single sign of the Saints presence in the last two weeks. Their trail had gone cold and Weston felt like he'd hit a brick wall. For a split second he wished that he hadn't fought so hard when the Chief Deputy told him they were going to reassign the case. Part of him wished he had just stepped down gracefully and let someone else deal with this mess. But that wasn't in his nature, especially now that these boys had just made this personal.

He glanced sadly at the bandage wrapped around Garcia's head as the Doctor's warnings played in his mind. ' _There is a pretty serious risk of brain damage after something like this. We won't know until he wakes up, the long-term consequences of the injury.'_ There was a chance his friend would never fully recover from this, and it only served to prove everything he had ever believed about the Saints. They were dangerous.

These brothers had a majority of the general public fooled into thinking that they were killing to protect them, the innocent. And sure, the men the MacManus boys went after directly were all bad men, but it was frighteningly apparent that if anyone tried to get in their way, it didn't matter who they were. It was only a matter of time before an innocent civilian ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time and paid for it with their life. Then the public would see the Saints for what they were.

A shift in the monotonous beeping of the heart monitor brought him out of his thoughts and he glanced over at the machine as the pulse on the screen picked up pace. Weston sat up and looked around him, unsure if he should go find a nurse when movement from the bed caught his attention. Coming all the way out of the chair, he moved quickly to Garcia's side and placed a comforting hand on his friend's chest just as his eyelids fluttered open.

"Boss?"

The word came out whispered and slurred but Weston picked it up easily. "Yeah, it's me," he spoke tenderly. He could see the confusion in his partner's glazed eyes and he patted him with the hand resting on his chest. "You're going to be alright." He looked behind him at the door, hoping a nurse will have noticed the change in their patient, but no one came. "I have to go find a doctor," he said, turning back to look his friend over. "I'll be right back, okay?"

As if his memories had finally caught up to him, a sudden lucidity sprang to life in Garcia's eyes and the man cursed as he attempted to launch himself out of the bed. He barely made it to a sitting position before ending up hunched over on his side, clutching his head with a loud groan.

Weston jumped forward in surprise and tried to press the younger man's shoulders back onto the bed. "Take it easy!" he chastised. "Everything's all right, just stay calm or you're going to do more damage to yourself."

Garcia allowed himself to be moved and he rolled back onto his back, breathing heavily as sweat beaded his brow. "What the fuck happened?" His voice was rough from the breathing tube that had been shoved down his throat during his forced coma.

Keeping one hand on his friend's shoulder, Weston looked down at the crisp white sheets of the hospital bed, unsure how to answer. Glancing back at the door to the room, he considered his previous venture. He really needed to get the doctor.

"Did I lose him?" Garcia's voice pulled him back. "Did he get away?"

Turning back, Weston eyed his partner, hesitant to answer the question. He knew that the other man was going to blame himself for the way things turned out. His friend needed to heal, not feel guilty about something that wasn't his fault. He was surprised that Garcia was even able to remember the events from that night at all, and he hoped that it was a good sign of the young man's chances of healing completely.

"Charlie?"

Weston let out of sigh before nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, they're gone."

Garcia fisted his hands in the bed sheets and let his head fall back onto his pillow. "I'm sorry," he rasped, his fierce eyes staring up at the ceiling, full of self-loathing.

"Hey," Weston said firmly, "Don't you dare apologize to me. If anyone is to blame for what happened, it's me. I never should've sent you with him alone. I painted a target on your back and then sent you out there without protection. It's my fault that you're lying in this bed right now, so don't you even think of apologizing. You did everything you could."

Garcia met his partner's eye and shook his head, not willing to put the blame on his mentor. "How soon can I get out of this bed?" he looked around him as if he would find the answer somewhere in the room. "We need to get back on their trail before we lose them completely." He made like he was going to try and sit up again but Weston held him down firmly.

"You've been in a coma for two weeks, Garcia. You need to stay here and rest."

Garcia paused, allowing himself to be pressed back down. "Two weeks?" he asked, his mind racing to figure out how that could be possible. "What happened to me?" He looked his partner in the eyes, searching for the truth.

Weston sighed. "I should get the doctor so he can explain it to you more thoroughly-"

"Just fucking tell me."

He cleared his throat, making note of the fact that the young man's short temper hadn't suffered from the injury. "Alright," he consented with a nod. "Your car was run off the road by another vehicle. You hit your head on the windshield upon impact and have suffered a pretty severe head injury. You had a lot of swelling in your brain and I think you busted a few blood vessels. They were forced to take you into surgery and put you into an induced coma until the swelling went down."

Garcia was silent for a moment as he thought through this. "Well, I'm awake now," he said, trying to sound as positive as possible. "I'll be back at work in no time, boss. This isn't over, I promise you that."

Weston looked down, avoiding his friend's eyes.

"What?" Garcia asked, a lead weight forming in his stomach. "Don't tell me they took us off the case."

"No, although they tried. Chief was pretty irate, but I managed to convince him to give me another month."

"Okay, then why do you look like someone kicked your fucking puppy?"

Weston shook his head. "I really need to get that doctor in here." He started to move away from the bed but Garcia's voice stopped him.

"Damn it, Weston, just tell me! I'm a big boy, I can handle it."

"Fine." Turning back, Weston sat back down on the edge of the bed, staring his partner in the eye. "The doctors aren't sure exactly how this injury is going to affect you long term. There could be brain damage. They said they wouldn't know until after you wake up and they can run some tests. If there _has_ been some lasting damage it could result in diminished cognitive abilities as well as decreased motor function." He could see the downfallen expression on his friend's face but he couldn't stop now. "You've been placed on paid leave for an indefinite period of time until you've healed completely and they know for certain that you are still able to physically and mentally do the job."

Garcia swallowed hard. That last part hurt the worst. He loved his job. He lived and breathed for his job. The thought that he may never be allowed to feel the thrill of the chase again left him feeling hollow.

Weston could practically see the negative thoughts as they rolled around his partner's head. "Don't lose hope, Garcia. I know how determined you can be, and I know you won't let this get the best of you. You will come back from this."

Garcia nodded, trying to believe in his mentor's words. "Have they assigned you a new partner?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer to that.

Weston scoffed. "Yeah, some rookie with his nose so far up the operations manual that he wouldn't know how to recognize his own instincts if they smacked him in the ass."

Garcia gave a hint of a smile.

"Chief assured me he is more than qualified for the job, said he was at the top of his class in Glynco, but I have yet to be impressed."

Garcia looked down. He appreciated his friend's attempts to take the sting out of the situation but it hurt knowing he had already been replaced.

"Hey," Weston whispered, the look of despair on the young man's face pulling at his heart. He waited until Garcia focused on him before continuing. "I'm going to get them. I promise you that. I'm going to catch these boys, you're going to make a full recovery, and we're going to move on from this. I'm going to get them." Gripping Garcia's shoulder he gave it a squeeze. "I promise."

/ / /

A soft knock on the door to their sanctuary had Murphy rising from his place on the couch, his hands quickly throwing the locks and turning the handle to reveal Smecker standing on the other side.

"You boys ready?"

Murphy looked over his shoulder at Edwards who was on the other side of the room, organizing the contents of a duffle bag, and nodded. God was he ready. Three and a half weeks they had spent holed up in this room, and tonight they were finally taking their leave of this city. They had taken advantage of their time here to heal and rest, but as usual, Murphy was starting to grow restless. His palms itched for the weight of a gun and he could feel the pull in his heart, in his soul, urging him to get back to work.

"Where's Connor?" Smecker inquired as he stepped through the door.

Murphy inclined his head toward the beds along the far wall. "Sleeping. Told him I'd wake him up when you got here."

"Alright," Smecker walked over to Edwards. "Go get him, we'll get the car loaded. We're out of here in five."

Murphy didn't respond, just stepped lightly over to where his brother was resting, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. He looked over his twin's form and his heart dropped at the sound of the tiniest of whimpers being pulled from his lips. A thin sheen of sweat was visible along his hairline and across his bare chest and Murphy felt a pang of disappointment. While Connor had opened up to him more over the last several weeks, his problems hadn't disappeared. He understood that, whatever it was that his brother was going through, it was going to take time for him to sort it out, but it was still painful to see.

"Connor," he spoke quietly, giving his twin's shoulder a squeeze. "Hey, wake up."

Connor shot upright, his eyes unseeing, his breathing ragged, and Murphy tightened his grip on his shoulder, anchoring them together with the contact. Slowly, his brother's eyes cleared and his breathing slowed as his mind caught up with reality.

Connor ran hand over his face and through his sweat-slicked hair before glancing a bit sheepishly at his twin.

"What was it?" Murphy asked, letting his hand fall from his brother's shoulder.

Connor slipped into his default response, shrugging away his twin's concerns, and shaking his head. "Nothing. Just a dream," he murmured, moving to throw his legs over the side of the bed.

Murphy placed a hand on his chest, stopping his attempt to run away. "Hey…" The word was gentle yet stern. It was a warning. He wasn't going to allow Connor to push him away anymore. No more lies. "What was it?" he questioned again.

Seeing the look in his brother's eyes, Connor sighed. He was silent as he thought back on the nightmare he had just been saved from, hesitant to say it out loud. "It was you," he finally spoke.

Murphy nodded in understanding. "I thought you said they were getting better?"

"And they are," Connor insisted, his tone taking on a hint of annoyance. "This is the first one in a week and a half." He could tell his brother didn't believe him and it was his turn to place his hand on his twin's shoulder. "They're getting better, Murph, it's just gonna take time."

Satisfied with the answer for now, Murphy nodded. "Come on," He said before standing and pulling Connor from the bed. "Smecker and Edwards are getting the car ready. It's time to go."

Connor bent down to snag the dark, knit sweater from the floor by the bed and pulled it over his head. He followed Murphy toward the door, rubbing the stiffness out of his thigh as they went. Walking down the hallway, they slipped out the side exit of the church and the cold wind hit their faces for the first time in weeks. They both breathed deeply, taking in the fresh air like starving men.

Smecker waved at them to hurry from the car parked and idling on the curb, and the brothers wasted no time, both sliding into the backseat as the man drove off down the street.

Connor watched the lights of the city as they passed through the streets under the cover of night. Glancing over at his brother, he was surprised to feel a hint of excitement at what was to come. For the first time in months he felt something other than a sinking dread and a haunting fear. There was a familiar stirring inside of him that he hadn't felt in all too long and he welcomingly embraced it. He had missed it.

As if Murphy sensed his feelings, his twin looked over at him and gave him a nod.

No one in the car spoke until they were safely through the Lincoln Tunnel on their way out of Manhattan. Once they were clear of the city, Edwards piped up from the front seat. "So, where exactly do we head from here?" The young man asked, looking over at Smecker.

Smecker was silent for a moment as if he were contemplating something before wordlessly pointing to the glove box. Edwards pulled the handle and found a small stack of thin manila files inside. He looked through them before glancing questioningly at the older man, handing the papers back for Connor and Murphy to look through.

"Why don't you decide where you would like to go," Smecker finally answered. "We're going to start small. We need to work on efficiency and functioning as a team. These should help us get started."

Connor flipped through the stack, seeing that each file contained information on a different criminal, crimes ranging from murder to sexual assault to child abuse. He noted that each offender was from a different state and he looked over at his brother, eyebrow raised.

Murphy pulled a random file from the stack and flipped it open. "Greg Walken," he read. "Arrested for assault, battery, and attempted rape. Out on bail." He met Smecker's eyes in the rearview mirror before looking over at his brother, a small smile playing at his lips. "I've always wanted to go south."

 _Chapter revised 11/19/17_


	19. Epilogue

Epilogue

Kennedy Dawson relaxed back into his cheap leather chair as he brought the open flame of the match to meet the end of his equally inexpensive cigar. He cringed at the low quality of the tobacco, the mere taste of the inferior product sparking a fierce disdain inside of him. To him, it represented just how far he had fallen, everything he had lost, and the betrayal he had suffered.

It had been five months since that night at the docks. Five months since the one person he had allowed himself to trust took that faith and stomped it soundly into the ground. He couldn't believe he had fallen for it. It embarrassed him. You couldn't trust anyone. It was a harsh reality that he had learned at a young age and it was a lesson he didn't need to be taught twice. At least he thought he didn't.

He had allowed Candice to get too close. Maybe it was the physical nature of their working relationship that had allowed her to get closer to him than anyone had gotten in twenty years, or maybe he was just a fool. Either way, his mistake had cost him everything and now he was left with nothing but cheap cigars and an inextinguishable, white-hot anger burning a hole in his chest.

He wanted to kill her. He wanted to do worse than that, but she was out of his reach. He had been forced to see her several times during the mess of court proceedings that had been his life for the last few months, and each time he laid his eyes on her, his fury and his shame grew until he could think of nothing else but revenge. His retribution, however, would have to wait. There was no way he was going to be able to get to her in his current situation.

After he had signed his immunity deal with the Feds, he had been immediately placed in the care of witness protection where he might as well have been a prisoner. During the months of trials and testifying as an official witness, he had had a guard posted on him at all times. It was only just recently, now that the courtroom bullshit was over, that he had been given a little more freedom. Although he may no longer be under twenty-four hour surveillance, he was by no means a free man.

Witness protection had relocated him into the-middle-of-fucking-nowhere, USA, and he was stuck living on a measly allowance provided him by the U.S. government until other arrangements for him were made. Dawson had no idea what his future held but he swore to the fucking heavens above that he would have his vengeance. That traitorous bitch would pay.

Stubbing his cigar out in the plastic ashtray next to his chair, he curled his lip in disgust. He reached for the remote next to the ashtray and jammed his thumb down on the power button, turning on the small TV in the corner. A young female news reporter was the first thing to show up on the screen and he slid his thumb over the buttons. He was preparing to change the channel when the reporter's words stopped him cold in his tracks.

" _There has been speculation that the vigilante duo known as the Saints are responsible for this latest string of murders across the U.S."_

The Saints. The mere mention of them had him trembling in rage. Dawson always hated the feeling of unfinished business and the MacManus brothers were just that. Knowing that those motherfuckers were still out there had robbed him of more than one night of peaceful rest. Although he refused to admit it, he secretly feared they, too, despised unfinished business, and he couldn't ignore the prickle of nerves in the back of his brain. He was afraid of them and that infuriated him more than anything else. He was used to being the one who haunted dreams, who struck fear into the hearts of those who'd dare cross him. And now he was nothing.

" _This makes the tenth victim in the last four months, and while the authorities continue to claim there is no link connecting these acts of violence, there is certainly a pattern that is difficult to overlook. So far, we have ten victims in seven states, all men, all with histories of violent crimes. Although the police have been particularly close- mouthed with the details of these killings, we do know that none of the victims have been found with pennies in their eyes, which you may recall, was the haunting calling card used by brothers Connor and Murphy MacManus. This lack of evidence, however, doesn't necessarily disprove the Saints involvement. The MacManus brother's last known location was New York City where five months ago they left behind a trail of carnage before vanishing off the radar once more-"_

Dawson switched off the TV before launching the remote at the wall in a fit of rage. He was about to send the ashtray along with the remnants of his shitty cigar sailing after the remote when an unmistakable clicking sound behind his head made him freeze. He knew that sound and it sent a cold chill racing down his spine.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear on the news." The voice was familiar and distinctly Irish.

Dawson felt the cold metal of a gun barrel as it was pressed firmly into the back of his head and he reacted violently. He refused to go down without a fight.

Launching himself from his chair, he made a dash for the kitchen, his thoughts on the small Ruger .38 Special he kept hidden in the knife drawer. Dawson made it halfway across the living room before being intercepted and tackled hard to the ground. A fist connected with his face, the hit nearly enough to make him lose consciousness, before he was drug to his feet and slammed into the nearest wall, a strong hand around his throat.

The painful pressure of the vice grip around his neck brought him back to his senses and he found himself looking into the furious and deadly, icy-blue eyes of Murphy MacManus. Unable to deny the panic bubbling up, Dawson continued to struggle, his actions frantic and futile.

Murphy squeezed harder, putting an end to the man's weak attempts to fight back. "Did you really think that after everything, we'd just let you run away and hide like the fucking coward rat you are?" He brought up his gun and pressed it into the man's temple. "You can't hide from us."

Connor stepped up next to his brother and Dawson couldn't help but feel a little satisfaction in seeing that the lighter haired twin still moved with a slight limp, favoring his left leg. He hoped the man would walk with that limp for the rest of his life so he would always remember who had given it to him.

Stopping mere inches from him, Connor leaned forward so that his mouth was next to Dawson's ear. "I told you I was going to kill you," he whispered before pulling back to look the man in the eye.

"We need to make this quick," a third voice came and Dawson glanced behind Connor to see the Edwards kid stepping forward out of the shadows. The young man walked over to the front windows and peeked carefully out from behind the curtains, scanning the street cautiously before turning back. "You know what Smecker said, in and out."

The brothers looked at each other before nodding. They both reached for him at the same time, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and dragging him to the center of the living room. Dawson knew what came next and when the MacManus brothers tried to force him onto his knees, he renewed his struggle, fighting like a cougar caught in a trap.

Jamming his elbow back, he caught one of them in the stomach but the other was on him in an instant and before he could react, a blinding flash of pain on the back of his skull had him sprawled on the floor. He was dimly aware of two sets of hands grabbing him by the arms and hauling him into a kneeling position. His head was swimming and he was forced to use his arms to brace himself so he didn't fall flat on his face.

He raised his head enough to see that the Edwards boy was watching silently from his place by the front window, a look of satisfaction on his face. Dawson sneered at the young man but flinched as two gun barrels brushed the back of his head.

He refused to beg or cry. He denied the fear that had settled like a hot ball in his stomach and stared stonily ahead. After everything these men had taken from him, he would not allow them to strip him of his dignity. Closing his eyes, he waited.

Speaking in one voice as the messengers of God, the brothers began to pray.

" _And Shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nominee Patris, et Filii, Spiritus Sancti."_

 _Revised 11/19/17_


	20. To Those Who May Be Interested

Hey, guys! I just wanted to let you all know that I have finally posted the first chapter of story number three. It's a year later than I had intended, but better late than never. Right?

Anyway, It's called The Blood of the Wicked and if you favorited this one then you should check it out!


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